


At First Just Ghostly, Turned a Whiter Shade of Pale

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Adam Milligan is So Done, Adam wants his boyfriend back (and they're gonna get in trouble), Affectionate Insults, And sticking around, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempts to consolidate show lore, Awesome Rowena MacLeod, Awkward Tension, BAMF Eileen Leahy, Banter, Because we deserve nice things! And they do too!!, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Blood and Gore, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Castiel is best dad defense squad, Communication, Crack Treated Seriously, Crying, Dean Winchester Cooks, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Deviates From Canon, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Drinking, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Constipation, Emotionally Repressed, Even after Cas' confession Dean still isn't talking, Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Feelings, Fist Fights, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grocery Shopping, Headaches & Migraines, Heavy Drinking, Hugs, Hurt Jack Kline, I am SALTY, I'm trying really hard to imagine a better ending guys, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, In a sense, Insecure Michael, Internalized Homophobia, Jack Has Issues, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, Kissing, Lack of Communication, M/M, Magic, Medical Examination, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Nicknames, Not even God can stop this, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Post 15x19, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Adam Milligan, Protective Michael, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Serious crack in the sense of certain people showing up, Slow Burn, Song Lyrics, Supernatural belongs to us, Supernatural is ours now, Swearing, Technobabble, Technology, Temporary Character Death, Trauma, Who can blame him?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 32,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: "For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part [and recognise in part]; but then shall I know even as I also am known." ~ 1 Corinthians 13:12, King James Bible"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone" ~ John 8:7, same as aboveUnto the ages of ages, even spied carefully behind dark glass, there is world without end.Things cannot end like this. Jack pours his love for Cas into the Empty, forcing light and life within, hauling his father back. The family he's got - including that of Sam and Dean - they have to preserve it. And in some ways, to heal it; drawing out the darkness like infection from a wound.Yet he must keep going, be strong, and brave - he has godly power, and so he must be strong enough to fix things.But what happens if -actually,when- he needs fixing?(Or, Jack is having a hard time adjusting to his status as God, and after doing his best to make things right, receives some aid in a manner - and from a quarter - unexpected)
Relationships: Castiel & Adam Milligan, Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel & Eileen Leahy, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy & Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline & Adam Milligan, Michael & Adam Milligan, Michael/Adam Milligan, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 275
Kudos: 90





	1. Through the Glass

"You're gonna go off somewhere now? When we need you the most?"

"I'll be around, I'll be here. In everything."

Jack knows the Winchesters will be all right without him. They will keep living, keep fighting without a story of anyone else's making but their own. They are strong, and do right. He...he wasn't. And he hasn't. Not until he has gained this immense amount of power can he see how what all he'd done, and been unable to do, how it had hurt him. Hurt all of them. But he can help them now. He can love the world, and use his new powers for good, and - 

"Excuse me, uh, Jack?" Dean's deep voice is sharp and rough as he tucks his chin and lifts his arm, forceful, even as his whole stance had been so rigid, defeated. Jack cannot bear that, and the first thing he wants to do is bring Dean happiness, such as he has. To bring Cas back. He's sure that question is coming; it is only surprising that thus far Dean has not asked it of him.

(Is it really so surprising, though? Dean Winchester never asks things for himself. Not for his own sake.) 

But Dean is still speaking, even as Sam's features are soft and he's silently placating, or trying to. Trying to ease off, get Dean to stop, to stand down. Because they can finally stand down. This is over, and Jack won't be returning

"...if you think just because you're all - lordly that you can just ditch us, you've got another think coming, kid!" Dean snaps, and his eyes flash with something Jack has seen in them frequently these past days. If it was anyone but Dean, he would say the look was one of ... helplessness. Hopelessness. But Dean is not like that; he is always fighting. 

So Jack blinks. He is, in fact, confused. "What do you mean? You said I -" _I wasn't family, Dean._ Even in his new state of being, new cushion of power that surrounds - both dark and bright; he feels Chuck's imprint, as well as that of Amara. Warring they still are, and he must provide control. He tries to take a steadying breath, to smile, to reassure "I understand, I can't be family to you. I've done awful -" his gaze goes to Sam whose own face is blanching with an agonized expression. If Jack was just half-human, that would break his heart. Break _him._ As it is, he still almost feels like crying. "Dean, Sam -"

"I was wrong," Dean's voice is louder, and he is in Jack's space now. Not exactly crowding him, but close to, and the edges of his eyes look red as he blurts out "I've spouted crap in my day, Jack, but that -" his voice is cracking, but he swallows and seems to will the tremble of his lip away "what I said about you not being family, that was horseshit. It was - the worst..." He stops, a darkness falling in those green eyes. Shaking his head with his tone growing even rougher "It was worse for you, and I'm sorry." He looks down, now, and adds almost desperately "but you can't just go off and leave us, not when everyone else is -" gone, the word is on Dean's lips but he does need to say it. Jack knows. Sam flinches at that omitted word, and Jack shakes his head.

"But Dean, I got them. I brought them all back." 

Dean's eyes come up to his again, with a painful brightness flaring in them as he licks his lips and utters, barely a breath "Even -" _Cas?_ his lips don't even say it but his eyes do. 

And Jack closes his eyes. He focuses, he _pours_ light and life and love into the idea of the Empty, into that domain. Things cannot end like this. He sends his love for Cas into the Empty, along with Dean's need for him, and Sam's. He sends the vestiges of fear and trembling hope, hauling his father back. 

A rending scream splitting his consciousness, bisecting with a flash like nothing else but nothingness tells Jack what has been done. With love, all of it - his and Dean's, and Sam's -

He falls to his knees, to hear Sam call his name, and feel a hand clutching his arm. Dean's.

"Whoa, kid. Hang on, I gotcha,"

Before a fluttering behind and the presence that causes a chill, a quiver along his spine as he feels his power grow and glow and rush with a sound like wind from the stillness of the midnight zone. Dean's grasp starts to stiffen and then abruptly loosen with shock before the wonderful weight of paternal hands upon the young deity's shoulders precedes the achingly familiar and comforting 

"Hello, Jack."

And that is when Jack breaks. He turns with a sob, eyes open again but blurring, almost opaque from blinding tears, and flings himself into the arms and chest of his father Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going off writing Supernatural right now because the writing of the final episodes did so many characters dirty. This is one of my attempts to right some of what I felt was wrong.
> 
> Let me know what you think - comments are appreciated.
> 
> Always keep fighting, carry on, and hang in there!


	2. Face to Face

"I've missed you so much," Jack's voice is muffled in Castiel's shirt, even as he tries to suck back tears and smile a little "... though probably not as much as Dean."

Dean. He can feel his father's stance and posture change at those words; Cas's hand, rising up to rub Jack's head, flexes in his hair, the fingers clutching at it as he feels Castiel shoot a look at Dean. Feels his swallow as Dean's hand, which had still been reaching out to steady Jack, clenches in a vice grip. Jack isn't sure whether or not he makes sound, cries out, but Dean has let him go even whilst still standing close and the Winchester's tone is deep and rough as he vocalizes

"Hey, Cas."

Jack, still buried in his embrace, can hear the pace, the rapidity of Castiel's heartbeat even as his deep voice intones evenly "Hello, Dean."

"I thought I - we'd lost you for good," Dean's composure cracks then, and Sam clears his throat from a little distance. Jack feels Castiel's grip tightening. Dean's voice wobbles wetly even as Jack can tell he is wiping his fingers down his cheeks, doing his damnedest not to cry. "I'm so glad you're back with m - with us, man." 

There is an ache in his voice, an expression of sadness that, if Jack was in command of his full measure of power, he could probably analyze and understand (or at least focus and pinpoint Dean's exact feeling). But he has learned enough, and is overwhelmed enough at present, to simply clutch the back of Castiel's coat in his fists as the angel inclines his body. 

"I am too," Castiel says, and claps Jack on the back, prompting the much younger being to withdraw at last, lifting his forearm to wipe his face. He tries to smile and to speak, though Castiel's warm gaze and his grasp that remains firm yet also gentle on Jack's shoulder belies the need to, and Sam is moving forward now as Dean and Cas look at each other with faces full. 

Eventually the silence is broken with a breathy "Come on, let's get home," before multiple gasps and shaking breaths are taken. Throat clearing precedes the "right, okay, let's go, yeah" and they all climb into the Impala.

***

Dean's eyes keep flickering to Cas in the rearview mirror, as if he expects the angel to disappear. No one speaks at all, not after Sam claps Cas on the back with a tremulous smile before they all enter the car. It seems like there is something Dean wishes to say, or an unresolved amount of tension in the air, though the latter could be from the immense amount of power radiating off Jack.

Or the fact that he has curled up next to Castiel after the angel looks to him and opens one arm in the backseat, silently offering for the nephil boy to scoot closer and stay with him. It seems like a moment for physical touch; Dean looks over at Sam, who reaches out and squeezes his brother's hand with one large corded one as the younger Winchester takes in a shuddering, steadying breath. 

Sam clears his throat, swipes at his chin and eyes and hair, and presses his lips together before glancing back as well. 

"So, uhm. Jack, you said - you brought everybody back?"

Jack blinks, lifts his head off Castiel's shoulder where he has rested it. The two share a glance before he answers Sam, a slight narrowing of his eyes mirroring the angel's, and if he isn't mistaken Dean inhales in a heavy, choking way as "Yes, I did." 

Sam nods, fumbling out his cellphone from a pocket in his shirt and turning the volume on, receiving text tone after text tone. He lets out an incredulous pent-up laugh of joy and relief after reading some. Dean glances at him, hand over hand on the steering wheel as he turns down a street. "It's Eileen," whispers Sam. "She texted - she's been texting me, I guess."

Dean lets out a sound of his own. "That's great, Sammy. We can go get her then, or meet up, right?"

Sam nods, wordless as his fingers fumble to type a return text. His face is bright and it's as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

Jack desperately does not want to do anything to increase the weight again, or at least anything else, but he clears his throat and offers "There's... There are some other people I brought back who didn't really know where to go, so I sent them to the Bunker." He offers this and Dean's shoulders stiffen.

"Do we need to be ready for a rumble, then?" 

Sam scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Really, Dean?"

"Oh shut up, bitch."

"Make me, jerk."

Dean glances to his brother then with a fond smile before focusing back onto the task at hand, figuring what awaits them at the Bunker. "Who else've you snapped back, Jack?"

Feeling twinges within himself as he lowers his head "... I was, thinking about your family, and people getting what they deserve," he speaks almost softly. "And - I haven't been able to fix everything yet, but I'm going to. I just thought you would want to see your brother. And once I find him, I can bring Michael."

There is palpable silence and tension in the car as Jack explains that he has made a place to house Adam Milligan. Provided upon his return to existence that he wishes to stay and wait for Michael.

Dean swears and almost crashes the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Jack is trying to help Adam - I think his ability to retrieve Castiel from the depths and clutches of the Empty is due to his emotional attachment, since even god has no power in that place. Jack was able to get Cas back with love :) and who loves Michael more than Adam? Jack will need a little help to retrieve him (still not over the way Michael's arc was handled and how he died. I'm going to try and fix that in this fic)
> 
> Also, cue Cas and Dean being awkward, sigh. They're gonna have to talk some stuff out, or at least attempt it.
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	3. Once I Know

"What the hell is - Jack, you brought Michael back into the Bunker? After we -"

"...after we tricked him into allying himself with Chuck despite learning of all God's lies and he was killed for it," Cas says quietly.

"Yes, thank you, Cas," Dean snaps out as he straightens the wheel up and glowers into the rearview. "How do you know he's not blowing the place to hell?"

"Because it isn't Michael," Jack swallows and blinks a few times, opening his mouth and then blurting "...I could only return beings from places where God has power. The Empty is different. The only way I could retrieve Castiel..." He glances sideways as the angel rests a hand upon his shoulder "...was by using all our love for him. I knew the Empty wouldn't want to deal with that, so. He's here. But Michael... I do not know my - uncle that well. If we want to rescue him,"

"We'll need someone who knows him best." Cas nods. Dean has gone totally silent as he drives. "And after their time together in the Cage, that would be -"

"Adam," Sam is nodding, pushes back his hair. "Okay, so. He's the one who's currently in the bunker and hopefully he won't, uh,"

"Blow it up?" Dean snarls out caustically. "I really hope your godly power includes bottom-lining things, Jack, because I'm pretty damn sure Adam isn't going to want to listen to any of us."

***

He is not wrong. 

Dean screeches into the parking space of their cavernous garage and the Impala door creaks noisily as he thrusts his legs and the rest of himself out. Sam gets out much more sedately on the shotgun side, opening the back door for Jack, who pauses as he looks to Cas. The angel smiles slightly as he in turn opens his passenger door and is practically dragged into a standing position by Dean. Who clamps his hands on Cas's shoulders and stares at him, throat working. 

He seems ready at last to speak when they all hear a crash from inside and run, Sam automatically putting his body in front of Jack's, Cas withdrawing an angel blade, and Dean cocking his pistol. So much for coming in quietly, they all practically ram through the door to discover Adam, holding onto a chair and slamming it into the levering system on the inside of the front door. Crashes occur as wood splinters strike the iron staircase and slam down the ten feet or so onto the main atrium floor.

"Where IS he?!?" Adam, ever expressive, is shouting, eyes as large as they had gotten when Cas fought with Michael to tell the truth to him. His face is red, his shoulders heaving as he wipes at his forehead and cheeks with a hand. 

Without acknowledgement of the fact that he has clearly been teleported into this place again by someone with far more power than Sam and Dean, or even Castiel, Adam's wide stormy blue eyes stare down at the four newcomers. He is holding the final piece of his makeshift battering ram and his teeth are gritted as he adds, the agony apparent in his tone and gaze:

"What did you asshats do to Michael?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, trying to come up with a logical reason that God, supposedly not having any power in the Empty, also translates to a nephil, being the offspring of angel and human - a lesser being than God - being able to wake someone stuck in the Empty up. 
> 
> In conclusion, it's *Huey Lewis voice* _the power of looooove!_
> 
> Thank you, and goodnight. Don't take money, don't take fame, don't need no credit card to ride this train. Also Adam is noT a fan of what has been done to him, he just wants his angel back. 
> 
> Think ten should be the final chapter count. Let me know what you think, comments appreciated


	4. Also am Known

"Michael...?" Sam murmurs after a pregnant pause. His head jerks towards Dean as they both jog and skid to a stop in the main room. The taller Winchester then tips his chin back to crane his neck up at Adam. "Wh... what do you mean?" he presses carefully, puppy-dog eyes in full-force, despite the fact that hadn't really worked before on Adam. Neither had his attempts at rationalizing, so how are they going to say what occurred after Chuck caused everyone on Earth to get snapped; how they'd used Michael's feelings about Lucifer to duke it out with his brother once and for all before being discorporeated by his own father?

Yet Adam sucks in an enormous gasp so sharply, shoulders heaving, that he nearly overbalances. "DON'T," he shrieks. Quieter, not as high-pitched in frenzied hysteria though still booming, his voice is a shout as he strikes the wall next to the door once with his impromptu wooden weapon. "Don't act like you don't know _exactly_ what the hell I'm talking about!"

"Woah, hey hey hey hey," Dean puts in, placatingly holding up his hands, palms open, gun between finger and thumb but not cocked. Not even loaded, if he's honest. He'd taken out the bullets once they'd shot at and done absolutely friggin nothing to God in a fit of frustration. "Adam, calm down!"

Eyes wild and alight with said wildness, Adam whirls on Dean. He stares down at him and then the group incredulously. "Don't tell me to calm down..." he utters with surprising, somewhat eerie repose. "Why should I?" His tone of voice is cold, not truly calm, and even Jack with his still limited experience can tell just how much Adam is hurting. His terror and loss are practically blazing out of him, and the fury towards them all is likely not to be controlled.

Jack can understand Michael missing from Adam, the sheer enormity of that loss, as a symbiote to angelic grace. For thousands of hell-years, as he recalls from Sam explaining some of his, their past. The human half is missing the angel half. This hits him full-on when Sam starts to explain, and Castiel adds more information in his gravelly tone about what happened to Michael. The tragedy of his final act of service to God. Dean assists Cas with the explanation as they had been together in the church, and the sheer unadulterated horror and agony on Adam's face as he shakes his head, willing their words to be untrue before gasping "no" and _dropping_ as though his legs have been cut out from under him assures Jack that he is right. 

Adam expels a sound like keening, or screaming, but somehow neither; it is a sound of loss, though, acute and terrible; Sam, Dean, and Castiel stare at one another, but Jack is moving. Before any one of them can stop him, the boy half human, half angel has climbed the stairs to kneel beside Adam's agonized form. "Hello," he lifts a hand to wave and Adam cracks one eye open, features blotchy and drained yet he does look at the nephilim. "I'm Jack," he speaks quietly. "I want to help you."

"...Adam," the other grits tightly, eyes closed, beads of sweat still popping up upon his brow despite earlier attempts to blot it off. His eyes, catching Jack's, hold pain of loss that the nephilim can so easily relate to. His voice, weak, quiet, so so tired, still takes on a dry aspect as he adds "You do, huh?"

"Why is this affecting him so much? Is it - has his mind been screwed with like the way Raphael did to his vessels?" Dean demands below as he opens and closes his hands, helpless. At least Jack has God powers, but still.... With the briefest hesitation, he turns and inquires "...Cas?" 

"I don't know," Castiel's eyes are trained on Jack's back and shoulders, which he can see as the young being continues to kneel next to Adam, speaking softly. Castiel's gaze is squinting in confusion and concern. Though he does now understand the fullest depth of feeling possible for an angel to a human, and so wonders - hopes, desperately, painfully despite the pain - that same amount of love is responsible for the way Adam is feeling. He cannot, however, be sure. Can never be sure. "I have never seen a vessel act so after being out of contact with their angel. I cannot fathom why Adam has been affected so much."

"...I can understand," Jack has stood. Adam, to everyone's surprise, is leaning beside him, the nephil boy's arm carefully wrapped around his still-heaving shoulders as his head bows to rest against the top of Jack's. "It is because he literally feels as if he has been split in half. His angelic part was ripped away." Carefully stepping over towards the stairwell, looking at Adam and shifting to walk in front of him, steadying if need be and being allowed to (which absolutely floors the Winchesters; what did Jack SAY to him?) Jack leads the way down into the atrium.

Castiel looks on his son with pride as Jack stops and says firmly "He needs rest." This, he can provide. He can give Adam a place to sleep, and use his new powers to protect him. Jack informs Sam and Dean of this. "And maybe with his help I can call to my uncle and the other angels," his face is the bright little boy's again at this, looking from Sam to Dean and Cas. "And we can make things better!"

His tone is so earnest and eager, the brothers look at each other. Dean in particular seems ready to speak, when he catches sight of Cas and his features twist. He remains silent. Castiel, however, steps forward and nods to Jack in pride. "I am sure we can accommodate for as long as Adam needs to stay," he speaks gravely. 

Sam and Dean trade some more glances with one another, a silent battle of wills that concludes with Sam flaring his nostrils and tucking his chin as Dean heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes. "Fine. But I for one don't expect him to stick around," he grumbles.

There are a string of glances, a clearing of his throat from Sam as well as a pointed glower from Adam, before with so much in his face, Castiel looks at Dean.

He voices something he had said to the oldest Winchester before, something that sends Dean in a jolt back to that barn in his memories. A play of light overlays Adam moving stiffly next to Jack as down the hallway he is led.

After everything they have been through, the reiteration, even flaring like a flame in Dean's chest from the memory, seems like a joke that has grown cruel. How can this possibly be of use? How can these words have meaning, honestly, in their lives? And yet somehow, because it's Cas - he lets them hit him and sink in.

_"Have faith."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks go to Huhsuabee for extensively talking theories with me and hashing out some words in this chapter
> 
> Adam is staying in the bunker solely because Jack told him that he wants to get Michael out of the Empty.
> 
> I've reworked some of Cas' words from "Lazarus Rising" to fit here, as Dean's focus is the memory. But he hasn't really talked to Cas yet. Will that happen? Who knows
> 
> EDIT: In other news I've discovered Alex Calvert is 5'10" and Jake Abel is 6'1" so cue my delight at the height difference with Jack steadying Adam.
> 
> I welcome comments :)


	5. Recognize in Part

Things are moving, or beginning to, if one can call it that. 

After standing in a state unsure, frozen, looking at each other as if unclear on what to do next, Dean at last nods at Sam and says gruffly "Well. While Jack's taking on his new role as godly babysitter with due diligence, you should go get Eileen, Sammy."

"Dean," Cas speaks in a rough tone of his own, but Dean is focused on Sam. For now, he needs to work with what he is sure of, what he can clearly know. And his current clarity is that Sam and Eileen need to be together.

"Sam," he clears his throat, pressing his lips flat and blinking as he tears his eyes down, hand yanking out the car keys from his pocket to hand to his brother, folding Sam's fingers around the fob and pushing at him. "Go on and get your happiness, little brother."

Sam just looks at him, and Dean feels his smile cracking, feels a prickle in his eyes but he isn't gonna lose it, not now. Not here when what he wanted has returned. Hasn't it? Hasn't he got what he wanted, he needed -

Dean glances at Cas, feels like he is being stabbed in the gut with rusty rebar, and steps back abruptly, relinquishing his brother and saying "We'll wait, and ...I need a beer." Sam's features are crinkled in that way where if Dean lets him talk he will voice something his brother does not want to hear or listen to, and so Dean jerks his chin and waves his hand, turning and heading to grab that beer. 

Castiel is standing and then with a nod to Sam, who smiles a little and pats him on the shoulder, speaks gruffly "I think I might need a beer as well."

Sam is left to wonder how much alcohol will remain in the Bunker once these two finish drinking this evening, and then to hustle back out to the Impala, hearing text tones from Eileen and Claire and Donna and Jody, as well as cataloguing a few calls he knows he's probably going to need to make, since Dean likely isn't in the state or mindset to do it. 

But first things first, and with the brightest smile he has expressed in years, Sam is going to get Eileen, to bring her here. 

That way he will be with his entire family.

***

Jack opens the door of the farthest room from the Winchesters' for Adam. He instantly allows for the other to go in by himself, and says "I can get you things, whatever you need. And um I can even ward it. The door, I mean. That way you can have privacy." 

He stands carefully and watches as Adam moves so slow, as if carrying a wound. He has one, the nephilim reflects; it may not in fact be physical, but it is enormous nonetheless. A violation, an agony. A grief. He wishes there had been an easier way to tell Adam about Michael's fate. He'd assured that, with all of his power and with Adam's connection to him, that they can try to bring the archangel back. Adam had scoffed at how sure Jack tried to sound when he knelt by on the landing of those metal stairs. "Don't sugar-coat," Adam breathed. "Just tell me. It's a one-way ticket to the place angels go when they die, right?"

"...Yes. Usually," Jack had done his best to speak brightly. "But the Winchesters -"

"- will come up with a fantastic plan whenever they need someone, or something," Adam interrupted him, heavy voice, flat tone. Not knowing Jack had the powers of God, maybe; or more likely not caring. "So Michael might possibly come back...if ya can get him when it's _convenient._ " his tone of voice was so dry it burned. He turns around, now, and stands before the bed. "Listen. Jack?" Smacks his lips slightly and adds "I don't do bullshit. The only reason I'm still here is because I know Michael, and he - and I -" a spasm of agony rips through Adam's voice and face as he swallows hard as if to control it. His tone is now slightly wobbling. "If he's gone, and there's some way to bring him back. Can you do it?"

Looking at this young man, Jack feels a burst of agony of his own, thinking of his mother, and Castiel. He knows he cannot and must not lie to Adam. "The only way it might be able to work is with what you know about and what you are to him," Jack says. "And even then, it's -"

"One in a million?" Adam cracks. "Or wait a minute, I'm sorry, the odds of survival are three thousand seven hundred and twenty-five to one?" 

That reference nearly causes Jack to beam. Yet this definitely is not the time. "Never tell me the odds, but - exactly," he says instead. Face falling an instant after. "And... I really want to help you. I've - I lost someone too." He drops his head, hair falling over his face. "...My mom." 

A sharp movement, a wall of feeling crashes as a spasm crosses Adam's face. The two look at each other and understand, needing to say nothing. 

Jack knows, with his new power, he must - he is going to do everything he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well the partial recognition has occurred in multiple ways - Sam registering something going on with Dean, Jack and Adam and their loss, and Dean is going to do some drinking with Cas. Will the latter pair talk as they drink? Who knows. Likely not, but we can hope, right?
> 
> Hope you're enjoying. Comments appreciated, and carry on :)


	6. Oh so Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for reference to past death, self-loathing, and belief the world would be better without a certain person from that individual's point of view

Jack gives Adam his space, then; remembering his own wishes to be away from everyone when they seemed so angry, and the agony of all he had done to hurt contrasts in this moment with a low-grade humming sound and feeling within his body. He goes into the hall, carefully closing the door, lifting a trembling hand as the humming becomes louder. It travels as a sensation down his arms and legs to collect in his fingertips as if they are burning. As if _he_ is burning.

He begins to hear cries leeching through him. Words in a variety of languages, a babbling of tongues that Jack can somehow understand. They plead and beg, where as the humming felt warm at first, now it licks at the nephilim, stabbing into his bones, like the knife he had pressed into his own chest just below his ribs when trying to give up his life for Sam

 _I love you. I love all of you_

Please, God, my god - 

What has he done to deserve this power, to be a deity even after the last acted so? How is he any better when so much of what he'd done and what had been done for him hurt and KILLED - 

No, Jack, don't! 

He wonders what Sam would say now, what he would do. What **Dean** would do. He was trying, he said he was trying to deal with what Jack had done after calling him a monster. After he had killed their mother. After all of the hurt he'd caused, the things he'd done - 

Jack slams one hand into the wall, spots dancing before his eyes as his knees bend, buckle. He continues to hear the screams from so many prayers yet all he can feel is the agony of his own pain. He tries to take breaths, not to panic; he knows that was what he had been doing when Mrs Winchester grabbed hold of him - 

_No -_

Over roaring in his ears, or rather muffled almost to nothing, time having passed so slowly, but doing so much, and without clarity in its passage, Jack hears words, sees colors leak out of his vision. A large blurry form makes some movement towards another, smaller, before the second figure disappears back down the hall towards the kitchen. 

A gentle voice starts calling "Jack? Jack, hey, bud. Can you hear me?" 

Sam. He must have gotten back. Jack gulps, falling the rest of the way to strike the floor, limbs curled, eyes so blurry with tears he can see nothing of Sam clearly except his eyes, blue-green with the sunflower yellow just around his pupils - was that hue always so bright? But Sam is close and dropping to his knees with hair flying. 

Sam is reaching out now and saying "Jack, it's okay, buddy. I'm with you, I'm here." 

"N-no," Jack gasps, whimpers; phlegmy sound ripping through his chest and esophagus, tearing out of his throat as his eyes burn with the salt of tears. He is shuddering so violently the convulsions shake Sam's own arms and torso as he reaches out and catches ahold of Jack "... it's not okay, Sam. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry -"

Large hands are curling around shuddering shoulders. "But we're all right now, Jack, you brought Cas back, you brought Eileen back -" Sam's teeth are flashing and the way his features brighten, Jack bearing witness to that makes him nearly shatter.

"It's not, I - because I can't bring your mother back!" He is whimpering. "I _killed_ her...,"

 _And what is burned stays -and must stay- dead._

At those words, Sam freezes. His hold on Jack tightens, convulsive, and Jack drops his chin into his own chest, hair flopping, eyes pouring tears as he sobs. 

"Ah, Jack...," the younger Winchester's voice trembles, but he rubs the other's shoulders with palms and thumbs. "It's - I don't blame you. I don't." He still holds that sincerity, that recognition, that I-don't-pass-judgement-or-blame-because-I-get-it, but this time Jack cannot be comforted by Sam having been here. Because he hasn't, not like this. "I can't blame you, I've done things too...."

Jack feels broken beyond repair. Even with all of this new power he is empty, a shattered shell, a pale imitation... He now sobs "I blame me, I made you lose your mom again and I hate myself for doing that to you, Sam. Especially when I - miss my mom, so much." His voice completely breaks as he ducks his head into his own chest, eyes squeezing shut, tone a shuddering breath of defeat. "...I really am a monster."

Sam tries to keep it together but hearing those words is when he cannot do so any longer. He breaks too, expelling a low moan of misery. Taking a stronger hold, he puts pressure into the grip he still has on Jack's shoulder, shifting his hand to the back of the nephil boy's neck and tugging, pulling him in.

Jack expects Sam to kill him; to snap his neck or curl both hands and throttle him, or even wishes - but the Winchester only folds his body into Sam's own chest and continues holding on. 

Sam rocks Jack back and forth on the floor of the hall and they are both crying until Jack's face is glazed by tears but he has no more to shed. He remains curled frozen against Sam, hearing the Winchester's breath heave and heart beat. 

Sam does not register he has started to hum, but he eventually begins singing lyrics about taking a sad song and making it better for Jack. He doesn't have the best singing voice and it's kind of cracking and wobbling around on the key from emotion besides, but he keeps singing anyway; stroking Jack's hair. Eventually presses his lips to the crown of the boy's head and rests them there. 

Like an absolution, a benediction, at once forgiving and tremulous, yet unmistakable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jack, I don't really know what else to say here. But I truly think Sam would never blame him because of Sam's own time without a soul, as well as his love for Jack and just...the fact he does not want this kid to hate himself. He cannot bear it.
> 
> *Dean said Mary sang 'Hey Jude' as a lullaby for them so you can bet he sang it to Sam when they were younger, and Sam automatically does it to try and comfort Jack
> 
> I have a LOt of feelings about Jack and his uncle Sammy okay
> 
> Comments appreciated


	7. Has no Sin

There are running footfalls, the eventual charge of panicked Winchester and wide-eyed angel with whom Eileen comes, signing almost frantically as lightbulbs pop and explode. Dean slows down as he sees Jack kneeling in Sam's arms with face screwed up and dark, moaning how he had messed up so profoundly - and in Sam's haunted gaze mirroring Jack's there is wordless communication that has him hauling Jack to his feet and letting go, only taking Sam's place to be clutched by whilst collapsing upon him is Castiel.

Sam presses his lips together, rubbing his hand over Jack's hair before he steps away, catching a glance from Dean.

"Is he okay?" Dean's voice deepens as he whispers to his brother, tongue as thick in his mouth as the words are, and Sam clears his throat, pinching his nose with two fingers as tears collect and drip onto the skin just beneath his eyes. Moving faster, glazing his face the way they had done during some of Sammy's worst moments.

"I - he's in pain, Dean," Sam looks at his brother with so much empathetic agony that he nearly staggers. His face is crumbling. "He feels - he says he's a monster." _Just like I am, have always been. The freak._ "D, I can't - we can't let him -"

Sam is gasping like he's drowning, and Dean hates that he's doing this but all he can think is he has to take care of Sammy. Eileen is here and she comes too as he ducks underneath one arm and pulls Sam into his shoulder, but he's instantly headed down the hallway past Adam's door and around the corner back to his brother's room, leaving Cas and Jack where they stand, one of them - or possibly both - in pieces.

***

He said he'd needed a beer, yes, but he really needed to get away. To get out of his head a minute, because the way it was pounding over and over again with his thoughts just made Dean that much more determined NOT to think. Sam was going to get the girl, their new god/three year old son had basically taken a single (if lengthy) look before he'd decided to babysit their younger brother, and Dean needs alcohol. Beer, or hey, he can probably find some tequila. Surely Sam and Eileen hadn't drunk it ALL.

He goes into the kitchen and doesn't even flip on the light, heading to the icebox from memory. There's a shelf, or what passes for the liquor cabinet of men of letters, and he might go over there next but right now he's yanking open the heavy door of the freezer and grabbing a beer, popping off its top and chugging about half the contents in seconds.

Footfalls he hears, and a click before the blooming of light shows him the angel, slacks and suit and shoes, that always-twisted tie that Cas is tugging loose as he trots down the steps, pausing. His eyes are so friggin blue, Dean thinks as he takes another gulp of beer. "Hello, Dean," Castiel speaks quietly, and it's absolutely unfair, and probably an aftereffect of everything going totally nuts besides that Dean's heart feels as though it's about to pound right out of his chest. His cheeks feel hot.

This is friggin ridiculous. Absolutely absurd.

With a gulp to almost finish the bottle off, Dean wipes his lips with his sleeve. "Hey, Cas." He croaks, shakes his head, clears his throat as Cas snaps that tie out from underneath his shirt collar and tosses it - _tie around me,_ Dean thinks, and _get a grip!_ \- onto the surface of the small table, rolling his shoulders and taking off his coat too. "You - wanna beer?" Dean asks, his voice almost a squeak now, what the hell, and Cas nods as he lifts his fingers to unbutton his shirt.

Dean almost has heart failure.

Forget the burgers and booze doing him in, it's gonna be the soft way Cas looks over as he undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt and then nods, eyes flickering downwards as if... bashful? Saying "Yes, I would."

"Would, uh, what?" Dean blinks, struggling to comprehend what the other is saying to him as he absolutely blanks out. Cas narrows his eyes and cocks his head, concerned, and Dean's heart stutters even as he wants to belt himself for being such a moron. "Beer. Right, yeah, uh - here." He turns away, back to face the freezer again. Face is definitely burning, and he blesses the cool blast of air as he grabs a second bottle, twisting off its cap and holding it back for Cas as he gulps the final swig out of his first one and gets hold of another. "Cheers," he says, twirls, gets a sight of those eyes again this time up close, crinkled around the edges and so warm as they look at him. 

Dean feels weak in the knees, and so casually leans back, away from Cas and into the hard cold edge of the icebox. The angel accepts the beer bottle, Dean jerking his fingers back so quickly it nearly drops to the tile floor between them, but he is already ducking his head and focusing hard on the second bottle he'd grabbed as if its globular glass and the liquid within can tell him something.

And then, but then Cas just - so awkward, yet also achingly casual, the way they'd been together before his deal came due, before those words he spoke (that Dean is certain are causing the shifts in expression now, how Cas keeps his gaze so warm but also shifts away and drops his eyes in a hurry in particular whenever Dean looks back at him) - the angel clinks their bottles together and replies "Cheers, Dean."

Something lingers in the way he says it, like he's cheersing to them. _To us._ Dean doesn't know what to do or say next, except "... I'm glad you're here, man. Glad Jack brought you back."

And if his voice shakes and starts breaking as his vision goes fuzzy and his eyes burn, well, Cas isn't to know that, right?

***

Except for the fact that Cas DOES know, because he's seeing it, and now he's stepping close and Dean feels something brush his shoulder as he stifles a sob - and it's cloth. Pale blue. Cas had just pulled out of his suit a friggin handkerchief. A POCKET SQUARE. And Dean is laughing as he dabs the corners of his eyes. Shakes his head incredulously, pulling at the beer and downing more before nearly gasping

"Ah, Cas, you're really something." 

He heads to the table, throws his body into a chair before tossing the cloth back as Castiel sits down across from him carefully. He seems to be pondering Dean's comment, looking for meanings in the words, but Dean offers a soft smile as he catches Castiel's eyes.

Infinitesimally, the angel relaxes. Perhaps this is good. They can talk. Dean likely doesn't reciprocate, not in the selfsame way, but still. It's important, to -

Cas now gulps his beer, the entire bottle in one go. Dean whistles as he gets up. "So it's gonna be _that_ kinda night. Okay."

He really does go to the liquor then, pulling a decanter out of the dark wood of the dry sink and grabbing a pair of glasses. Slops a generous measure into both cups, and polishes off his own sip, offering the rest of his beer to Cas.

"Here buddy, gotta catch up."

"If you insist," Cas's voice holds its typical gravel, and Dean grins wickedly, crooked; one edge of his mouth curving as he holds out the liquor. His arching eyebrow is challenging, and yet there is something else in his eyes.

Something... deeper.

"I do."

They do not speak of much, though. Not before the sound of Sam and Eileen returning - two pairs of footsteps, not just one after the booming slam of the front door - precedes Eileen flying into the kitchen frantically signing, and Dean is up and staggering. Cas steadies him, then he's running, adrenaline pouring through his system as he thinks something happened to Sammy, god damn it can't they take a second and have time to breath just ONCE - Only to find Jack on the floor in Sam's arms, his brother murmuring soothing words, and to hear that Jack called himself a monster, when Dean still hasn't even told Cas -

Yeah, suffice to say absolution does not stop his panic and it doesn't do a damn thing for Dean's guilty conscience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is having feelings, and so is Cas, but these idiots just can't break out the healthy communication skills, can they? Sigh
> 
> Comments appreciated


	8. The first Stone

After Dean gets Sam into bed "C'mon Sasquatch, there ya go" Sam is still crying, tears glazing his face and soaking into his shirt as he gasps on his brother's name and the fact that he understands, they've got to help Jack, Dean _please -_ and Dean gulps and clears his throat, rubbing his palm across Sam's hair and cheek, his own eyes glassy. "Yeah, little brother. I know." He points at Sam and signs for Eileen to take care of him. She nods rapidly, signing back that she will, and Dean taps his fingertips to his chin and pulls his palm away in a thank you.

He doesn't know what to do, then, except to carefully close the door of Sam's room behind him. Cas is with Jack, and Adam... he's probably locked down in his room not wanting anything to do with any of them. Dean doesn't blame him. 

He shuffles his feet and clenches his hands and knows he needs to DO something, so with a sharp huff of air and slapping his palm to the wall once as he's still wavering a bit, the eldest Winchester goes back to the kitchen to get a jump-start on hangover cure. Mostly to make some trays of food for everybody else and then he'll eat the leftovers. 

Sure they could all use some food - at least maybe it'd do something for his spirit in the case of Jack, and Cas... Dean's hand freezes on the handle of a frying pan as he thinks about how Cas had looked at him with so many things in his face, and he's still a friggin coward who won't say shIT.

But right now he's making eggs and pancakes. Makes a smiley face on Jack's with some whipped cream, berries and bacon, and drizzles honey over Cas's portion. He's gotten a ton of peppers and tomatoes and that healthy crap to put together in an omelette for Sam, and hands a plate of eggs and bacon to Eileen, dish rag over his shoulder, apron round his waist, tapping the door sharply with a heel. He scrawls a note to slip under Adam's door, because last thing he wants is to leave food and have it get cold. For multiple reasons that would be a travesty. 

Dean heaves a sigh, shoulders rising and falling deeply as he balances plates for Jack and Cas, reaching out slowly to rap his knuckles on the nephilim's door. 

***

There is soft shuffling, and it is Cas who answers. Cas, who has not stopped since returning from the clutches of the Empty. Who has been here for Dean and Jack, and Sam too, when Dean couldn't be. It makes his heart ache, how tired the angel seems, how weighted down. But still softening, still saying "Dean" as if his name in being spoken is a caress, as if Dean deserves that. Yet he doesn't. Not when it comes to so many things, especially how he's acted towards Jack.

"Hey, Cas. I brought you somethin'." He offers one plate, and Cas softens as he takes it, his fingers touching Dean's under the heft and Dean feels like he could buckle because of that. But he can't. _Focus, here._ "How's the kid?" He asks, eyes travelling over Cas's shoulder to where Jack curls in the fetal position on his bed, hair tufting over the blanket he's got cocooned around himself. 

The angel looks so fond and worried that Dean's heart can hardly take it. He hears a roaring in his ears as his chest clenches, and he has to focus mightily on Castiel's quiet reply. "He's - resting. I think it is overwhelming to be the new God. Even during my brief sojourn -" Dean sees him mask a wince, sees the regret and shame flaring in the seraph's eyes. He wants to eliminate it, to help Cas, but has no clue what to say. Friggin typical. "- I know it must be hard for him. In his empathy and desire to help everyone, everything he can...," Head cocked to the side, tone firm "He is a _child_ , Dean."

 _I know._ Which made it ten, a hundred, thousand times as shitty for Dean to say he wasn't family, to say Jack had to prove himself to them. Had to prove he was good. Dean's voice cracks as he responds "...Yeah, he is." 

Careful, slow and gentle as he can, Dean crosses the room. "Jack?" He speaks roughly, soft as he stops and shifts the plate from his right to left hand, settling down on the edge of the bed and reaching out to scratch his fingers across the young being's shoulders, rub his back. Or he would, but pauses. Jack is so tensed, he does not want to add any more discomfort to him. So Dean continues "hey, kid, I - made some food for you. Pancakes. Putting 'em on your little nightstand table, alright?" He does that and starts to stand. "I'll leave ya with Cas. He's - he's damn good at watching out. Watchin' over." Dean hesitates before curling his hand over Jack's side and squeezing his higher shoulder once. With a pat then, he smacks his lips. "Okay," he vocalizes quietly before withdrawing. Looks back at Cas when rising and walking to the door again. 

The angel nods at him, and Dean goes for a smile that ends up looking as broken as he feels inside. Which is fine, this isn't about him. As long as Cas, and Jack, and Sammy can get fixed -

Dean claps Castiel on the shoulder as he passes, exits Jack's bedroom before heading back down the hallway. 

That's all that really matters.

Them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can keep thinking is when Dean said to Sam in episode two of season seven "Make that stone number one and build on it!" 
> 
> In essence, that's what he's going to do here in his own way. His love language is (in my opinion) acts of service and he's definitely beating himself up right now. Oh, Dean. No one can tell me he's not a sweetheart underneath all of his repression and anger and everything.
> 
> Comments appreciated


	9. The approaching Night

_'Between the darkness on the street and the houses filling up with light;  
Between the stillness in my heart and the roar of the approaching night - Somebody's calling after somebody. Somebody turns the corner out of sight, looking for somebody  
Somewhere in the night....'_

Dean walks down the hallway again, and hears quiet creaking that precedes a shadow, moving, and he's spinning with gun out of his waistband and arm up, fingers curled to cinch around an assailant - likely their neck or maybe he'd get an elbow to their face, but "Jeez, man, do you ever stop hunting?" And wide eyes as a dark blond head ducks smartly beneath Dean's arm allow him to lower his weapon in something like shame.

"...Adam," he says, and "Uh - hey." Because after the last time they'd talked, almost alone, he'd called him a good man and said truthfully how sorry he was. And Adam came back with that line, holding way too much for Dean to get through then. But now, maybe, he has time. _Since when do we get what we deserve?_ indeed.

"Hey," Adam's tone is rough, dry. Dean has yet to tell if it's deliberately dry or if Adam naturally talks that way, if he is imbued with sarcasm the same way Dean is, the way Sam uses sass. There really is so much they have yet to learn about each other. If Adam even WANTS to learn, which, Dean wouldn't blame him if he didn't. At all. But he's scuffing his foot along the floor a little, and clears his throat. "So, uh, you...said you were cooking something, right?"

"Yeah!" Dean tries not to appear too excited. But "Yeah, I did. Uh, do you want me to bring you some or are you gonna come in - ?" He points towards Adam and then sweeps his arm and finger in the general direction of the kitchen. "I mean I'm sure you don't wanna stick around us any longer than strictly necessary, but uh" he winces inwardly, and very possibly outwardly too. 

Adam just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well. Still need to eat," he says, and that's enough. Dean nods and beckons to him, deciding he'll make a new set of eggs in the kitchen, and ask Adam what he wants. He goes over to and turns on the radio after jogging down the stairs, mostly for something to occupy his hands with; and also, just, hell yeah classic rock. Pealing guitar strains hit him as hard as the words do. Harder than usual, with the particular nature of this moment.

_'Tender is the night. Tender, when you hold your baby tight. Tender, tender are the motions, tender is the night. Between a life that we expected and the way it's always been...'_

Adam, swallowing and tapping his fingers to the table four times, crosses to sit down. Warily, it seems; he's staying on the same side as the door with a clear shot to it. Like he thinks Dean might shoot him, and Dean recalls that yeah he's still got his gun. With a disgusted huff and a twitching of his lips Dean clicks the safety back on. "Sorry 'bout this," he speaks gruffly, tucking the gun in the back of his jeans. "Just always gotta be -"

"Prepared to shoot someone?" Adam's voice is cool. "Oh, yeah, nothing unnerving about that. I mean yeah, that ghoul did walk around wearing me for awhile so..." He shrugs, but his gaze is hard as is his voice as he looks across the kitchen at Dean. "You've gotta do what you gotta do, right?"

_'I can't walk back in again after the way we fight...  
When just outside there are people laughing,  
Living lives we used to lead.  
Chasing down the love they need  
Somewhere in the ni-ight...'_

Adam's eyes are a storm in his face and Dean wants to get angry. Maybe feels like, hey, this is the place he'd normally get pissed and start swearing or shouting. But what Adam has gone through...with what they've all gone through, he cannot do that. Not now. Besides, that comment makes his shoulders slump with the weight of all the world, of all the things he has done and thought he had to do - the things he wanted to exert his own will over and how messed up everything got nevertheless. 

But Dean doesn't want to fight. Not really. His head is spinning still from earlier, with Cas, and his chest clenches as he worries about Jack, and now here Adam is grilling him and "Yep. I'm sure Michael told you about the stuff he had to do while he was using you as his condom, right?" 

"He didn't use me for anything," Adam almost hisses, body stock-still in fury. His knuckles are white as his hands curl into fists. "I told you and Sam, and Castiel - we had an agreement." There is a flash of something in his face that Dean swears is agony, like the sort he'd shown to them when they told him Michael was gone. It still doesn't make much sense to Dean, but then Adam adds "... I'm guessing you understand that, seeing what you've got with Castiel." 

With Cas? What - Dean's head snaps up as he'd gotten eggs out and was cracking them in the pan. His hand clenches too tight and one crunches into an oozing, gooey mess with pieces of shell stabbing his palm and yolk dripping between his fingers. Adam doesn't know what Cas said, nobody does. What the hell is he talking about? "What is it I've got with him?" Dean's growling, directly in opposition to the croon of the current song:

_'Tender is the night  
Tender, and the benediction of the neon light  
Tender are the hunters, tender is the night,'_

Adam snorts, watching Dean carefully as he swears and with a jerk drags the trash can over to where he stands in front of the stove. With several dramatic arm shakes, he drops his crushed egg into the bin. "I don't know what you two 're calling it, but he's always with you, by your side. On your side. That..." Adam almost shrugs, almost stops as a faraway look in his eyes and softening expression in his face precludes his ability to think about Michael. As if he would, or even COULD stop thinking about Michael... Anyway. He blinks and keeps looking at Dean. "That's a big deal." 

His tone is so deadpan and straightforward that Dean cannot come back with any kind of comment, and no matter how many times he has heard however many iterations of: _-he's got a weakness. He LIKES you. -...you have me confused with the other angel, the one in the dirty trench coat who's in love with you. -The moment Castiel laid a hand on you in hell, he was lost! -Too much heart was always Castiel's problem. -Ask him, he was your boyfriend first_

And now - 

Now, well. Before he was taken, and in the midst of nearly every moment of silence that Dean experiences, he hears Cas saying those - such words himself. What he wants he knows he cannot have, and Dean closes his eyes, nearly drops the pan of eggs onto his foot. 

He's right. Adam is right, ALL those sonsabitches had been right, and here he is with certain knowledge still too damn stubborn and too damn - hell, whatever he is - to tell Cas the truth. 

_'You're gonna want me tonight  
When you're ready to surrender  
Forget about who's right  
When you're ready to remember  
It's another world at night  
When you're ready to be tender  
Tender,  
Tender!'  
_

Song seems like it is echoing now, pounding through him, and Dean has to focus extra-hard on his eggs. Not bothering to give Adam a verbal reply, he slides the scramble he'd dropped the rest of the peppers into and sprinkles it with cheese on a plate and snaps "Here. Now eat up," in a rough way that for once Adam makes no rebuttal against. He just looks at Dean with the slightest smile, and if it appears a trifle sad on his behalf, well, Dean isn't going to focus too hard on that. 

He's got enough to think about. 

_'... And in the hard light of an angry sun  
No one remembers what was said or done  
Tender are the words they choose  
You win, I win, we lose...,'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This song](https://youtu.be/9KNuZrEVB70), "Tender is the Night" by Jackson Browne, hit me in regards to Dean and Cas and would not leave my head, so I included some lyrics here. It also could connect with Adam and Michael, which is one of the many reasons I have Adam thinking about his own angel.
> 
> Italicized quotes from several characters who have commented on Dean and Cas over the seasons are included. Some of the notable quotes are from the angels Uriel, Balthazar, Hester, Sammandriel and the demon Meg. There are so many other quotes, like the 'i thought you two were attached at the... everything' but yeah. This is what I got out of all of them.
> 
> I am a sucker for slightly angsty conversations where two people who are different levels of straightforward and varying degrees of exhausted attempt to communicate with one another. Such are Dean and Adam here.
> 
> Comments appreciated


	10. Filling [up] with Light

Dean does manage to cook some more food for himself - and Adam as well - this time, and focuses on it instead of wondering about Sammy, if he's eating - surely Eileen has that covered, right? - or Cas and Jack... They don't, well they've never needed to eat, but it could help, couldn't it? Food helps him; and having enough to eat certainly does...

And then, after Adam quietly finishes his food and takes his plate and fork over to set in the sink before stiffly offering Dean a nod after he clatters to his feet and to the sink as well, turning on the water to wash their dishes so it doesn't at all appear as if he legitimately just wanted to stand close to someone and check whether or not they are all right... Thankfully, he hears a clearing throat and then a "Hey, Dean," from Eileen as she appears in what at first glance looks like a robe but is actually one of Sammy's shirts. If Dean is being honest, despite the fact he does not want his brain to go there, thanks, it is the exact overshirt Sam had been wearing when Dean got him into bed earlier tonight. 

"Eileen! Hey, it's really great to see you," Dean blurts, taking his hands and pressing the ball of his thumb against the middle of his first finger and moving his hands up and down with elbows bent to greet her. Because like an idiot he hasn't done that yet. And he feels his features stretch up and curve into a smile. Feels himself relax a little. More than a little.

She is here, she's really here. Their closest ally in all of this crap with Chuck, and Sammy's chance at happiness with their 'agreement' or whatever. She comes down the stairs to put plates next to the sink as well. "You too," she signs, her face softening before she verbally adds "So you wash, I'll dry?" 

"Oh," Dean had not even registered the continuation of water pouring in the sink or how he'd been all set to immerse both of his hands in it, but "Yeah, that works. Thanks." So he pulls out the dish soap and squirts a big dollop that begins frothing white and bubbly in the rising water.

It's damn difficult to really breathe and comprehend Chuck being gone. Like it was little breaths, there were little instances going on - when he didn't know what was real, and Cas said _"we are,"_ when he was in Purgatory again; when he baked Jack that birthday cake, and he and Sam just sang along to classic rock in Baby... Those little moments clanking beer bottles together after the conclusion of a case. The hell yeah, well done, we got a win. And... this. 

All of this has felt real. Different. It's almost like Dean has physically had a film taken away from his eyes, and everything is clearer. Emotions are sharp and hell, they may still be jumbled but they're immediate and palpable, and he has not wanted to kill something or fling anyone into a wall since Jack sucked in all the god-power. Only thing that's really messing with him is Jack being so broken, crying on Sam, and then Cas, because he's a monster -

A clinking crash under the surface of the water sounds then, and with a nudge and signing from Eileen, eyes widening, crinkling with concern and then there is blood, the water in the sink is blooming red - 

He had just clenched his hand around a fork and plate, and the resulting screech and crash preceded tines stabbing into the flesh of Dean's palm. He swears and pulls his hands free of water and plates because now they're going to have to disinfect the whole kaboodle, damn it - 

But the pain is real too. Sharp, like when a shard of glass is stuck in your skin, or when something hits a nerve and it feels like you've been hit by a bolt of lightning for how instantly it shoots through your entire body and your stomach turns and roils with a gag reflex, and 

And there are footsteps, swift and stumbling, and then with hair spiked up and mussed, features pale and puffy from tears, probably, if not sleep, here comes Jack, biting his lips and coming down the stairs with Cas behind him, whole face transfixed, eyes wide, lips pressing together, arm stretching out. 

"What the -" Dean backs away from the sink, hand still held up by Eileen, her fingertips providing pressure on the skin and flesh just below his wound and his eyes are widening, his heart thumping. But Jack passes his hand over Dean's and heals the self-inflicted gash with a glow. 

Before looking up at Dean and saying in a small voice, "There. I'm going to help, Dean. I'm going to prove to you - that I -" his face is crumpling, skin reddening, tears coming and pouring again as he shakes with all the power inside him. 

It's like he's glowing, and Dean's heart is breaking, and he's shaking his head wordlessly and reaching out to Jack who _flinches_ and oh, fuck - Dean grabs him, and holds him, arms high around Jack's shoulders and one hand, the one Jack has just healed, holding the nephil boy's cheek and the back of his neck as Dean gets out gruffly 

"No, hell no. You don't have to prove anything to me, Jack." _I was an idiot to say that before, a stupid fucking idiot. You're family. You're family, you're my kid, and I'm here to take care'a you. I'm going to - **I** gotta prove that._

He holds Jack, chin resting in tousled soft hair, as Cas and Eileen both stand there to see this happen. Eileen presses hands to her lips and smiles, while Cas has tears in his eyes. Jack gasps and collapses, buries himself into Dean's embrace. Dean is stiff, though he's relaxing. 

Yet there is still a long way to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha this all pretty much seems to be happening in the same twenty-four hour period, but I don't care. Jack needs to know he doesn't have to prove anything, thank you and good night
> 
> Comments appreciated


	11. Lookin' for Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possible triggers for self-loathing and brief self-harm described below (nothing graphic, but Jack strikes himself in the chest a few times during a panic)

Days go by, turning to weeks.

Jack is slowly getting to grips, coming to terms with his powers. He still curls up in his room with what the others assume (or rather can only vaguely imagine or guess) are the most monster headaches of all headaches - "Kid's never even had a hangover and now he gets to have this," Dean mutters - but Jack goes with Castiel outdoors as well, away from the Bunker, to get some space and try to utilize his powers, to spread them over every living thing.

"I... I'm not sure I understand," he said to Cas once. "I had feelings, with - when I had my soul," _don't think about being soulless_ Jack stifles a shudder and focuses on the clear blue eyes of Castiel. "I love things, and people, like you, so much - but. It's... different, being, um"

"Being God?" Cas offers gently. He has never ceased to gaze at Jack with warmth and pride, and love, all of which Jack is witnessing now. And he _feels_ that love more strongly, acutely than he ever has before.

"Yes..." The young being nods, pushing back his hair, brows wrinkling and lowering the way Castiel's do, still; and he feels another burst of affection in response to that. "There's so much to balance, Castiel. I think maybe... that's why Chuck went away, he got tired of balancing?" Jack shakes his head. "It doesn't excuse him, but - I feel this _weight_ , like the heaviest you could ever experience, that would certainly crush you or anyone - but I have to hold it." He stops, presses his lips together as he struggles to explain. "It's - it has to get easier to carry, though. Right?" He looks up into the eyes of the angel, his own so young, so crushed, but still holding fast to vestiges of hope. It's so strange, absolutely unthinkable in Castiel's previous experience, but God is begging.

And he is going to do everything he can to help. "Well," Castiel shifts his own shoulders, thinking upon the physique he has crafted over the years to carry himself, to help the Winchesters. To help humans. "You'll have to increase your strength, I suppose. But you have me," he reaches out and puts a hand on Jack's shoulder. "You always have me here to help you."

Jack nods, smiling softly as he basks in the sheer amount of affection and care he can feel Castiel providing. That is one thing he likes about being God - he can really feel everything. It gets overwhelming, but still it's ...nice to feel how much Castiel cares about him.

*** 

To Jack's surprise, others feel similar amounts of care too.

Sam, he knew, from the beginning believed in him. Had faith in him. Of course it surely must have been shaken if not completely destroyed, but Sam has always been his biggest supporter whenever Cas couldn't. He still looks at Jack in such a concerned and gentle way, and has become more apt to rub Jack's hair or touch his shoulder with a little smile when passing by in the bunker. 

And Dean. Dean seems to have made it his personal mission to keep everyone fed and watered, and he's gotten a bit intense about washing clothes and having enough clean sheets. Sam made a comment about something to do with nesting again, but Dean does not respond to that, he just keeps bringing Jack milk in a mug and lingering long looks at Cas when the angel isn't looking. Sam and Adam both roll their eyes and sigh. Jack just feels, and waits. 

Adam has not precisely inserted himself into everything they are doing. He still remains apart most of the time, and exchanges staredowns and glares with Sam and Dean that grow a little less icy and more exasperated as time goes on. The only thing the three of them seem to be able to agree on, if not bond over, is that they have all decided on their own to watch out for their new nephil god. 

Adam is the one who talks to him, casually. He passes by Jack eating cereal with chocolate milk and nods at him, holding his own bowl and lifting the spoon up as he says "how's it going?" They start to talk as well when Adam needs to use a computer "Gotta do something, if not to find out anything about -" his voice hitches "-Michael, at least I...well. I need a job. Or, well, SOMETHING to do." 

He starts to struggle, a little, with the technology. Being out of the loop since 2010 leaves a lot to catch up on. And even in the Bunker there is high-grade techy stuff that Adam doesn't have a single clue about. 

Adam huffs and pushes the laptop he has been using away in quiet fury, drumming his fingertips on the table and trying not to scream or swear. Jack, who has been compiling a map of locations where he has been hearing the largest amounts of prayers on his own laptop, notices Adam's silent seething. He is worried; after the initial horrible feeling Adam had exhibited the first night, he has an...as Cas might say about Sam, an even keel. So Jack is instantly attuned to the simmering frustration that Adam now silently exhibits.

"Adam, are - are you okay?"

The other laughs a little, running his hand across his face. "I should be, shouldn't I? This is stupid, I'm just trying to search for something about uh, angelic summoning and apparently there's a google book? But the darn thing won't let me save it anywhere" turning the screen of his computer, Adam shows the side that has highlighted text and the document he wants to copy, but cannot. "I can't even select it, I know how to use a keyboard command that usually copies stuff to Microsoft Word -" he pulls up another blank white page and clicks on it, tapping his keyboard. Nothing happens. "See? I mean I can't be that off or behind, this has to work somehow, doesn't it?" He sighs, roughing his hair up and offering a wry grin. "S- sorry, I just..." lifting one hand, palm up, fingers curled a little, he huffs helplessly.

Jack nods. "It is frustrating. Here, I - may I see?" Shifting over next to Adam and squinting at the computer screen, Jack's expression clears. "Ah! Castiel and Sam showed me how to do this. If you create a...gmail account -" he opens a new tab and shows Adam what he's typing. "You can save this book into your Google drive, and it'll stay. See?" He gets to the account creation page. "Oh, here, you can make a name. Mine is, um," his face crinkles with a smile as he ducks his head and tells Adam "... nougatlover2017."

Adam laughs out loud. "Ah, Jack, that's great. Hmm, let me..." Leaning forward and squinting a little, Adam pulls the laptop to type his choice. He pauses, looking at the excitement on Jack's face, the bright look in his eyes as he asks while shifting his chair so Adam has enough space

"Okay, does that help?" So earnestly.

"Yeah," Adam returns his smile with a real, thankful one. "Yes, it does. Thank you."

"You're welcome!" Jack bounces and beams, ecstatic to be able to help Adam with something he himself has learned.

***

Soon enough, Jack learns that Adam has the power to help him too. 

He is doing better, he's been doing better getting stronger, like Castiel suggested. Trying to balance, to be good, to do things right. But he has done so much wrong, so much BAD, he has hurt people, and... in his room one morning, his chest begins to tighten and a sharp pain shoots through him. Making a fist, Jack thumps himself, hard, in the chest just over his heart. 

He's gasping and shaking as he rolls off his bed, or rather throws himself to the floor - and Adam, who had been walking by, hears the noise. He leaps into action as the others start clattering down the hall as well. He knocks on and then opens the door to hear Jack whimper. "Hey, Jack? It's Adam."

Seeing the young being shaking, his fist clenching against his own chest, the glaze of tears coating his cheeks, Adam jerks his chin at Sam, who's run in behind him "Jack! Adam, is he okay? What's -"

"Take that stuff out," with a sharp jerk of the head, Adam snaps the words and shifts his eyes to the hunting paraphernalia - why are knives and guns such a constant in this place, around this kid? No wonder he gets like this - "and bring a glass of water. Not too cold," he instructs Dean, who stands beside Sam with fire in his eyes. Adam then carefully moves over to Jack whilst beckoning to Castiel. "Jack needs love right now, he needs an anchor. And you're both for him, Castiel." Adam is quiet and direct in his wording. He has seen the way Cas is and he will not push the angel's parenting aside.

Adam steps carefully around the end of Jack's bed so the nephilim can clearly see him and stoops before crouching, one knee on the floor and face as near the level of Jack's as he can get it, but remaining at a distance until asking Jack "Is it okay if I get close to you?" and when Jack manages a nod, Adam asks if he's okay to be touched.

Jack nods with an expelled whimpering sob, and Adam shifts on his feet, moving close and reaching out, curling his hand around Jack's hand. He squeezes the nephil's palm with his fingers and says "it's okay, Jack. For you to feel what you're feeling... whatever you're feeling right now. That's okay. I'm here, and your father is here for you, with you. Okay?"

Jack whimpers again, curling in on himself and gasping something. Cas, leaning over behind Adam, squints and leans lower, practically vibrating with worry. Adam speaks softer. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry," Jack gasps. "I'm so sorry... y-you, and Castiel, Sam and Dean - I'm making you all worry...." 

Adam shakes his head firmly. "No, no Jack. You...you have a lot on your plate. And...regardless of what it is, you don't have to act a certain way just because you don't want us to worry. If you're not okay right now, or for a while? That's okay. Just - here," he offers his arms to help Jack up. "Let's - lemme at least get you on your bed rather than ya hunkering on this cold floor. Okay?" 

Jack nods, hand still, the other wrapping so tightly around Adam's it might be suspending blood flow, but right now he doesn't care. "...O-okay." He sniffles and lets himself be pulled to his feet by Adam, Cas also offering a steadying hand. 

Cas, voice gravelly and deep as usual, but cracking with worry, shifts to be close as well, as he and Adam lift Jack's blanket so he can get in bed. "Adam is right. I'm here, Jack. I - we," he amends, catching Adam's eye gratefully "we both are here with you."

Jack, curled up and still clutching Adam's hand, twists around so he is pressing his body as near to the angel's as possible. Castiel sits carefully on the side of the bed, just at the edge, and Jack buries his head in Cas' lap. Castiel is shaking, he cannot help it, but tries to keep his hands steady as he curls them around Jack's shoulders and holds on; as he strokes his son's hair and (for who knows what reason) begins singing softly to him. "Look at what's happening to me, I can't believe it myself - suddenly you're on top of the world, should've been somebody else -"

Gradually, Jack ceases crying and shuddering. Adam has officially knelt and sat down next to Jack's bed, their hands separating, but he spreads his fingers out, palm up on the covers, and Jack as if absentmindedly taps and traces the lines of Adam's hand as Adam counsels him to breathe, just breathe. Adam smiles slightly as Jack traces his skin. Castiel smiles softly at him, at both of them, and says "thank you." 

Adam nods, swallows, and shifts to rise as his knees are smarting a little with how long he has been kneeling down, no matter the fact he doesn't mind. "W- wait, Adam," Jack whispers. 

"Yeah?" 

"... I'm - I think I'm all right now, but...will you stay with me?" He remains curled next to Cas with the angel's arm around his back, but his eyes plead with Adam nonetheless. Adam settles his shoulders, nodding. 

"Yeah, I will. Uh -" Jack scoots over as if anticipating something, or simply wanting, needing someone to be close. Adam gets it. He settles his body carefully on top of the blankets, ensuring Jack is under them and thus will stay warm, and wraps an arm around him, pulling the nephil in to cuddle and feel safe. Jack makes a slight sound, shifting and burying his head in Adam's chest as Adam keeps hanging on tight, eyes flickering up to Cas, who is looking at the pair of them in fondness and aching relief.

Cas has tears in his eyes as he quietly moves to pull up the chair, his chair - beside the bed and sits in it to keep watch and remain nearby. Adam rubs soothing circles on Jack's upper back, across his shoulder blades. Jack's legs tangle with Adam's and Adam feels his breath catch. A warmth and ease flowers in his chest to have someone this physically close to him again.

Sam and Dean return without hunting gear but with water, and stand a trifle awkwardly in the doorway. Yet their faces are lit and nearly slack in a sort of awe because this is ...not at all what they do but it works - or seems to be working - so much better.

Adam, with arms still wrapped around Jack, pointedly looks in the Winchesters' direction. Because everyone, even a newly-minted god, needs and deserves to feel physical affection sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consummate medical professional but i-need-help-with-technology-and-get-frustrated-by-it Adam Milligan is who I think the world needs. Also, having him bond with and help Jack is very important to me
> 
> *The song Cas sings might be familiar, it's called "Believe It or Not" by Joey Scarbury, from a television show in the nineties I think? He sings it whilst comforting a baby when he's human in episode 3 of season 9
> 
> Give me soft dad Cas or give me death
> 
> Comments appreciated


	12. The hard Light

There's an opening, then - if not of floodgates, at least a dam is broken. Or in this analogy, opened properly. As Adam holds onto Jack, he begins to talk. About Michael, and about his mother, because Jack whispers questions, wanting to hear something nice, he says. Nice. But they had both lost their moms, Jack had told him. So...

So Adam talks about how he and Michael joked about him returning to medical school with an archangel inside him. How they had so many little nudges they could give each other, verbally, visually, or even... through what Adam suspected was the light of the soul. "We were... together for so long, I could just - feel things and - he'd know them. It was" _he was_ "not... always safe, for a while there we had a hard time dealing with the Devil. Do you, uh, d'you know -"

"Yes," Jack nods in response to that abortive question. "Lucifer is my father."

Adam flinches, whipping his head backwards and looking at Jack with, after smacking his lips and waiting, what is his attempt at a carefully neutral expression. "...uh...come again? I thought Castiel was?"

"Oh! Yes, I chose Castiel to be my father," Jack continues so brightly, as if that is self-explanatory. "Lucifer is just the one who -"

"- he possessed the president of the United States and was with Jack's mother," Castiel gravely interjects. "Her name was Kelly Kline. I did my best to watch out for her, to take care, before Jack was born."

"Yeah," Jack nods. "He took great care of her, and me. So I chose him to be my father." Looking up to Cas now, "...and he's still taking care of me," the nephil adds. Focusing on Adam, "it's like how my - uncle took care of you, right?"

Adam nods. Almost jumps, the abrupt way Jack comes back to him and speaks so directly can be a little startling. "Yes, uh... I guess it's kind of like that, Jack. Just, uh - we don't -" _didn't_ a shearing agony rips across Adam's heart every time he has to think of Michael in the past tense "... neither one of us is, was fatherly. Our relationship was...very different from that." Adam feels his face heating up as Jack looks at him and nods, earnestly attempting to understand.

This kid, because he is a kid, from everything Adam has learned about him; a toddler in age, even if a young adult in appearance, asks "Oh. How was it different?"

"It was -" Adam almost laughs, eyes crinkling, seeing the settling of softness in Michael's expression on his own features in his mind's eye. Feels the warmth of grace wrapping around, entwining with his soul, hears Michael swearing _I will protect you, Adam Milligan, with all that I am._ Hears him say he won't leave, but he had - not his fault, from what they'd all said, except that he'd been stupid enough - why, Michael? - to go back to his father, but Michael was not stupid. Stubborn, yes; so certain of being a soldier, of the fact he was harsh and strong and protective because he needed to be; and how he melted into Adam the first time he'd wrapped his own soul back and said _"Michael, hang on to me, I've got you"_. How they'd been together as one, but not one; equal in the glowing beaming affection they both felt. The love Adam still feels now, enough to stab in his chest like an ice pick or squeeze his heart like a fist. Enough to send him to the floor in a ball when he is alone, holding tight to his own knees, thighs and legs, clutching his torso enough to bruise to try and feel that closeness again. "...I need him," Adam says. And he'd said it, and felt it, so many times with Michael that the words are simple to say, even if the feeling behind them is not, is complex and wonderful and bursting with the agony of having it and not having him, but "I'm in love with him."

That's all it takes, to say it. Jack's eyes widen and he nods with an "oh" but it is Castiel who expels a sound like a whine or gasp from his throat. He doesn't intend to do it, Adam can tell as his teal eyes snap to Castiel's blue and the angel appears almost shamed by his own ... weakness? Was it? He presses fingers to his lips and stands, cloth flaring out of his trenchcoat as he turns, but stays. "And he loves you," it's a deep breath, a low growling question, but not quite; the framing is a statement, disbelief but fact as Adam looks at Castiel and Jack does as well. 

"There's one way to know," utters the nephil, and he clenches shut his eyes, curling his fists and then opening them, fingers spread. Whole bunker starts shaking, lights flicker as if about to go out, and they hear an enraged howl from Dean about just having _ONE FRIGGIN NIGHT TO OURSELVES WITHOUT A MONSTER, DAMN IT -_ despite the fact there has been nothing upsetting the atmosphere of the place for weeks now, since Jack became god. But - a wry little smile twists Castiel's mouth as Adam widens his eyes. Can't expect that level of logic from Dean.

And then the bunker ceases to rumble, all is quiet and Jack drops his lifted palm as well as his head before a presence makes itself known to him, as his shoulders straighten and he lifts his head again. "Come on," he swings his legs out of bed and stands up. Looks at Adam with this deep thing in his face. Castiel does too. Adam wants to glare, to bounce or look away or even leave due to ... whatever strange things have occurred in past, this moment seems stranger. 

But he follows the deity and the angel, and expects Sam and Dean, running as they do into the main atrium where standing in an unmistakable signature of power is a presence singing out to Adam's soul. He catches breath painfully but cannot move any more as appearance, shocking, stabs through him. Disheveled dark hair precedes burning eyes as a gaze rises and locks on him and only him. Absurd, impossible - hadn't he gone to the place where angels stayed dead? And yet somehow, he is here.

_Michael._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can Jack now pull beings from the Empty with love? Yeah, I think so. Is this self-indulgent? Certainly. 
> 
> Happy 2021, may this year be better than the last one! And here's some fluff to get you started. Am I invested in the amazing relationship of Michael and Adam? Yes, I am.
> 
> Bless Matt Cohen for starting my knowledge of Michael and Jake Abel for providing loving visuals betwixt him and Adam <3
> 
> Comments appreciated


	13. Of [an] angry Sun

"Michael," Adam breathes, incredulous, even as he knows in his soul, which has automatically flared towards the being in the main room of the bunker - even as shoulders heave and roll, he knows - however it's happening, this is...

"Yes, that's Michael," Jack is smiling now like he's gotten - or given - a mountain of Christmas gifts. He looks and sounds so proud. "I made him a body." 

Castiel is blinking. "Jack, you didn't tell Sam or Dean -"

Jack catches his breath, eyes widening as he gasps, horrified by a realization "Oh, no -" 

"What the hell's goin' on?!" Dean has his gun up crossed with an angel blade, wrists steady over each other and brow lowered, face intent. Sam is beside him, and Eileen comes after, holding a... butcher knife? - her face set and stance as ready as the Winchesters' as they all three boil out of the kitchen hallway. 

But of course, first one who lunges is Dean. 

"How did you get in here?" He snarls, and Michael, head snapping up, wings, though unseen, flaring - whirls and stops Dean's angel blade as he stabs it without hesitation.

"No," he hisses, voice going directly through Adam as he can so clearly tell the archangel is giving the oldest Winchester (what an idiot jumping in like that, the same thing he'd almost done to Adam. Quick on his feet, though, Adam's got to admit. That probably keeps him winning weirdo monster hunter escapades) his deluxe stern, that is incredibly stupid, I dare you to try again facial expression. The one he saved for Lucifer in the Cage. He clamps his hand around Dean's cheeks and jaw and whirls, with him, ready to launch the man across the room "No, this - it's a dream, it must be. What do you want now?!" And his voice nearly cracks as his eyes blaze both with desperation and power. 

Dean expels a grunt of what sounds like immense pain and Sam tries to go to him, but even the huge man is no match for an archangel dragging his brother (by his jaw!) across the floor...

And then Michael looks up as he's dragging Dean, eyes bulging, sweat dripping, veins standing out. He looks up, at Adam. His eyes are wild, but when they light on Adam's, he stops.

Adam shivers, but Michael has frozen in place and his expression is rapidly changing from fury and despondency to awe, and affection, and confusion. He blinks and vocalizes "Adam...," Tone barely a breath and almost a question. 

Adam swallows and steps closer. "Yeah, Feathers, it's me," he speaks carefully. "You can, uh, we - I know it's hard to believe, but you aren't in that place anymore. You can -" the rest of his fumbling words are cut off by the archangel practically throwing Dean and then immediately launching at him, all clothes and hair and eyes and sensation.

He slams into Adam's chest in his new body and is wrapping arms around him, murmuring "it's you" and "you're alive" and "did they hurt you? I'm so sorry" and Adam cannot help it, but he laughs. In joy and in relief, feeling skin and strength and warmth and a hint of wetness. 

He's here. He's back, and Adam is no longer alone. 

Michael buries his face in Adam's neck and holds on to him before drawing back and sniffing, eyes flickering over every bit of Adam's form, palm going to push hair back from his forehead and then lightly cup his face, stroking once with the tips of his fingers. 

Adam smiles, feeling tears prick his eyes. Even as this is a new face he's going to need to get used to, this is still Michael. Still the archangel, his power and essence is practically thrumming through the air. Adam feels it, and feels... whole again. "Michael, it's okay. I'm okay." It's his turn now to look the other over, even knowing very little about where Michael must have been, for Jack to need so much to get to him, and ask so softly "...are you?"

And that look in Michael's eyes before the short sharp nod he graces Adam with, the way he shifts just slightly back but keeps holding on, and how Adam hears, in his head and heart and soul, it all settles in a feeling warm and bright and wonderful:

_I am now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one, yes Michael almost chucked Dean across the room but I don't know what Dean expected with his piddly angel blade haha (he'll be okay though)
> 
> Comments appreciated


	14. Said or Done

Dean, twisting his neck from side to side and working his jaw with an aborted groan of pain as he pushes at his face with impatient fingers, is glaring huffily in the archangel's direction. Sam presses his lips together, flaring his nostrils and blinking, and hustles over to grab his older brother by the upper arm. 

"Ah, okay, D, there ya go," Sam grunts as he hauls Dean to his feet. Cas hovers by Jack's side, eyes trained on Dean, and then moves sharply enough for Michael, still holding Adam as if none of the rest of them exist, to take notice and yank the human behind himself as of automatically, on instinct. He presses his body to Adam's, hand and arm wrapping back around Adam's hip and waistline. 

Adam curls his hand over the archangel's shoulder and Jack sees his relaxation even as Adam says "Michael, I'm - we're alright."

"For now," Michael growls. "Until these - until there is an agenda and they need to fight against my father again -"

Looks are exchanged. "Oh, no, that's not a ...that isn't really an issue, now...." Sam and Castiel both, oddly enough, seem helpless at that, but Michael doesn't comment.

Especially because "Hang on, why the hell did you go back to your dad?" Adam asks.

"He bought some time, for us," Dean croaks, spitting blood as he opens and closes his mouth, the skin around which currently bulges at an unnatural angle. "T- ah -" he flinches back slightly as from his peripheral comes Castiel's hand, fingers curling around to heal his jaw.

Weakly he tries to bat the seraph's hand back, "Forget it, Cas, 'm fine," but Cas takes his hand and mutters "Dean. Your jawbone is clearly _dislocated_."

As there is back-and-forth over whether or not Dean needs or is going to accept Cas healing him (Sam sighing "Come on, Dean, don't be an idiot," as Eileen takes hold of Dean's shoulders, rubbing them) meanwhile Michael studies Adam. 

Turning to him, facing and shifting with arms taut, muscles clenching as he holds Adam's side and looks into his face, "I couldn't - I couldn't think of ...anything else... nothing but - losing you." Michael's eyes flicker down from Adam's, the ball of one thumb stroking across the cloth of Adam's shirt, pressing to skin beneath. Points of contact hold sharpness, like pain and heat and yet neither. His fingers grip tightly, bunching weave of clothing as his breath heaves out in a judder. 

Adam shifts closer in his own turn, eyes flickering to Sam, who stands clearing his throat and hovering behind Castiel and Dean. A soft look flits across the face of the tallest Winchester as Adam lifts his brows before swallowing and looking back at Michael, swaying forward into the archangel's space. He touches his forehead to Michael's, swallowing with jaw jerking, eyes hooded and glistening.

"Michael...,"

Michael's arms are taut but his body is shaking as his eyes flicker back and forth wildly. "I... I don't know, I don't know why I went back to him, it wasn't -" _I didn't want to,_ inwardly he cries. "I questioned, I doubted, and then you were gone, so surely...he was punishing me, punishing us -" he had known of angels returning to the command of heaven, how the general, Anna, had been taken back into the fold forcibly, because that was, that had always been the way of things. He had to kill her, for his father's Plan to succeed. Because it was his duty. There was no other course. None they knew. None he knew.

None until Adam, until this fragile human concept of freedom, having one's own will to choose, had been thrust into his understanding in a take-it-or-leave-it, quintessentially dry way.

Something Adam had muttered and thought, said he learned in high school tugs at Michael's mind:  
'It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll; I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.' 

There was more to the words, more to the weight of them than Michael could recall on his own, but he did recall that last bit as important; no, vital: that free will was to be the captain of one's soul.

Yet it was gone from him, that freedom - had been ripped away with Adam, when he was. And he had not known anything but pain, so what did it matter if he helped his father again? Nothing else had been in store for him, naught else held meaning; and once he went to the emptiness, he was able to dream...

But that dream had not been anything akin to what he wanted. Michael realized that he wanted things. He wanted to be, to exist, on earth, with Adam.

But he had been GONE, and then Michael himself was gone, and ... He hears Adam speaking now, tone fervent and almost keening in agony. "Michael, I never... I never meant - never wanted to leave you. I'm so sorry."

"No," Michael gasps, fingers rising and curling around the back of Adam's neck and clutching him. Adam's lips part, a miniscule puff of air brushing over the archangel's skin, sending a shiver through this new body he possesses. "It isn't your fault, Adam. Leaving me was never your choice, I... know that." Clutching onto him even tighter, "... I'm so glad to be with you again," whispers the archangel.

Adam's lips twitch and then he is moving, and smiling, and his arms are around Michael's neck as his entire body presses against him. No manner of throat-clearing or eye rolls affects either one of them. The only change in their aspect occurs when a slightly hesitant though excited voice speaks.

"Um, hello, uncle." Says the being, the son of his brother, the one on whom all hopes had been pinned - and Adam is whispering that he's got the power of God. That round pale face accompanies a voice holding such depth of feeling, the expression of love for all that God espoused from the Beginning, and yet - 

Michael's father is "... apparently..." (as Adam rolls his lips and explains) "... mortal now."

Michael goes completely still in the moment of hearing that. If his wings were visible, they would bristle - his feathers are unwieldy anyway, the fusion of them to his form grafted in a manner not dissimilar to those ghastly stone creatures, creations of humans known as gargoyles. But in this moment Michael feels like one, heavy, unwieldy, and cold. So cold.

"He's - Jack has helped me," Adam says. Even as they aren't one, he can tell that Michael bristles. "And he... somehow with - we talked, and he - he brought you back." Breathing heavily, letting go and standing in place with a few of the briefest bounces on the balls of his feet, "He brought you back to me," Adam says, voice choked. He is gazing at Michael as if he has been given the greatest boon in the world. Michael understands that, because he feels it too. 

Even as a strange burning emptiness also exists within the archangel. 

For it seems that once again he finds himself owing not just something, but everything to God.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote Adam remembers from school is from a poem I was tasked with reading during my own high school experience. It's called "Invictus", by William Ernest Henley, and the whole of it connects to Michael and Adam's experience quite brilliantly I think:
> 
> 'Out of the night that covers me,  
> Black as the pit from pole to pole,  
> I thank whatever gods may be  
> For my unconquerable soul.
> 
> In the fell clutch of circumstance  
> I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
> Under the bludgeonings of chance  
> My head is bloody, but unbowed.
> 
> Beyond this place of wrath and tears  
> Looms but the Horror of the shade,  
> And yet the menace of the years  
> Finds and shall find me unafraid.
> 
> It matters not how strait the gate,  
> How charged with punishments the scroll,  
> I am the master of my fate,  
> I am the captain of my soul.'
> 
> Gargoyles are created as guards and protectors of buildings, and Michael is the protector of the host of heaven. I also think, as Lucifer was the Shining One, Raphael a healer, and Gabriel bright in his humor &c, that Michael feels his brightness comes from his sword and not himself. Thus, twofold reason to compare with a gargoyle, in his personal estimation.
> 
> Comments appreciated


	15. Wrath and Tears

After Dean goes still, finally, Castiel forcibly grips both sides of his face and heals him. (With less trouble than he would typically have doing so, it appears.) The little knot of overall large hunters turn then to face Michael and Adam. Michael instantly moves, shielding with his own form, pulling Adam behind him. Arms extend to block as much of the other's body as he can. Gaze sharp, chin lowered, he lifts and scrunches his lips. "What's your angle, bringing me here? What do you want this time? What do you want with Adam?" He looks back to this being who has suffered so much -

"No, hey, wait. Hang on," Adam pipes up, moving forward. Standing next to Michael, who jerks as if to keep him back, to protect him. Adam looks on him with softness around his eyes before linking his hand with Michael's, lacing their fingers together and rubbing his thumb across the skin of Michael's palm. "What d'you want with _us_?" He pointedly asks, though his tone remains as deadpan and even as ever. "Jack, I know you said you... wanted your uncle back, to get the angels and ... rebuild things, right?" Adam speaks in a light way, words rolling trippingly off his tongue, because if this gets harsh then Michael will explode, and even if he still has not gone all the way to accepting the Winchesters or even liking them, he doesn't want them dead, entrails spattered amongst a bloody mist. He doesn't want Jack, in his power as God, to remember nothing...or worse, to recall everything and beget a newly waged war. Getting to know the kid - yes, he really is a kid, Adam can tell that - does not lead him to believe Jack would act in a way intended not to be good.

But he knows all-too-well how those with the best intentions make at times the biggest mistakes.

"Yes," Jack replies. He is so _hopeful_ as he turns from Adam to Michael. "I know that you protected heaven, Uncle. Especially when your father went away." Michael's grasp on Adam's hand is tightening. "Sam and Dean told me. But you...also helped us," he adds. "Both times, and." Glancing at Castiel as if for assistance, the ...new god, if that is what he is - that is what his power must mean; it burns beneath the surface of him, thrumming within in waves of light invisible to living eyes, to all but angels.

And Castiel steps forward and looks at this being as if he is accustomed to the light. Looks on him with fondness, in fact; and something other...in encouraging affection, the sort of sense Michael saw his Father give once or twice at the Beginning of Things. He is baffled. This expression, on the face of the fallen angel in the trench coat who never listened, never learned; whose actions in this world ran always so antithetical to God's, and even Lucifer's. To everyone's. Michael knew those in heaven who loved Castiel but didn't understand him. In that way he inspired a strange sort of loyalty in smaller sense, microcosmic event akin to the way all angels felt about - or were meant to feel - for God. 

Yet here this angel, this seraph stands nurturing such Divinity.

"And we, and Jack," the low gravel of his voice grates in Michael's ears. He knows what should be, what ought to be; angelic voices are high and clear as crystal; their depth in forms human, to be taken in a vessel, though necessary are a flaw. No, humans are perfect in their own form - rather, Michael knows of one. He looks down for an instant at the grip of Adam's hand, at how close they two stand, occupying as close to one space as they can. And then back to Castiel, who stands so close to Dean (Dean is ready to launch himself at Michael should he need; the spark in his eyes speaks volumes. And Michael waits, is ready for it) but Castiel still speaks, he says "Jack wishes to use his power to rebuild Heaven." And that sentiment swirls in Michael like a storm.

"...Why?" He hisses, word sour on his tongue, taste curdling, metallic as his wings rise and his eyes glow. "Would you raze the work of my, of our father, to build a new Paradise upon the dust and ash? Smooth over the imprints of your brethren, of those who came before you? Would you make all anew on the dearth of old? Bring golden-doored palaces and sweet water turned to wine?"

"Beer could work too," Dean lets out a grumble. "Some people prefer it." Sam hauls in breath and smacks him, even as Eileen makes a sign for drinking that gets Dean to add "heh yeah, exactly." He sniffs and lifts his eyebrows, focusing on Michael as the archangel's glance burns

"Can you be silent?"

"Oh, I'm starting to want you to try'n make me."

"Dean, don't." Sam's teeth are clenched on the words he speaks. His eyes go wide.

"Screw him, Sammy, none 'a us need to hear the monologuing! You think we'll burn your heaven t' the ground, huh? Start all over? Would that really be so bad?!"

"I will break your jaw this time," Michael seethes, threatens. How his Sword has such power to get under his skin, hah, his Father would be amused. _Lucifer_ would be amused.

"Oh hell I wish you would!" Dean jerks free from Sam's grasp on his arm, shaking out his bunched sleeve. His eyes are burning and Michael may have angelic power but Dean doesn't care, he is ready to go for it all.

"STOP. Dean," Castiel is in front of him, stopping Dean's lunge with two hands on his shoulders.

"Let me at 'im, Cas, c'mon - smug son of a bitch -"

"That's it, this is ridiculous." Dean is wrenching at Cas's arms, desperately, lip curling and trembling in his rage as Adam steps forward with his own face set. His stance says _cut it out, come on guys, really?_ but Dean still seems prepared to hit somebody.

"No!" Michael's tone is piercing now. It nearly cracks as a sudden blast hits Dean, and Cas, and Sam, who covers Eileen's body with his in order to protect her. "You will hoist a flag of Heaven and say it will be good, or better, and then I will be the soldier to lead as I did before, and -" he clenches his fists and shakes wrack his whole body. How can they not see? He must show them, he must tell them, as none had been present before him. He knows the power of God. "If one being holds my father's power, then _EVERYTHING WILL REMAIN THE SAME!_ " 

_The song remains the same. Free will is an illusion. You can't fight City Hall._

_Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the Beast. For it is a human number._

__All these creatures, all are flawed - and if his Father acted so, if HE was one of them - then anything, everything they attempt to make, even to reform -_ _

__They do not know - they cannot understand -_ _

__Michael whirls around. Eyes. So many eyes. And walls. His own eyes latch on to orbs stormy, frothing blue silver grey like roiling waves in an ocean, yet behind is steadfast calm. He wants to be away from here. Looks to Adam, still holding on, and lunges, wraps both arms and wings around him and with a flash of light that is searing, blinding, they are gone._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue dramatics, and Michael pretty much only holding himself in check for Adam.
> 
> Yes, I know the Bunker has sigils that keep it warded and protected from the powers of angels. So no, Michael and Adam haven't left the compound itself, just that particular room.
> 
> Michael is... having a hard time, to put things mildly. He isn't doing too well. (Neither is Dean, though.)
> 
> Comments appreciated


	16. But the Horror

"Michael, Michael...," He is holding this being, the other half of his soul, and they are in a small space, a room with a bed and desk and chairs, with those same nondescript walls and the power sealing them inside; this...bunker, and Michael swears, or would, but he hurts so much that it is all he can do to stay upright and clutch onto Adam.

Adam.

Who is whispering to him, with his voice as well as his soul, whose hands are around Michael, now, as his cheek presses into the chest of the archangel, as he holds the muscles and clothes and heft of him, his arms encircling them, and says "hey angel, it's okay." Who tells him "I'm here." Who pulls them both to a sitting, almost supine position on the bed in the room before bracketing Michael's face between his two hands and looking into his eyes and intoning "We're here, we're out of that room, you're back, I'm not gone" and each breath of his that brushes over Michael's nose and lips and eyelashes is a gift, a boon, a benediction. Each beat of the archangel's acquired heart, the fluttering of his cloaked wings, the throbbing that begins deep within him at the look in Adam's eyes, the gentleness with which he speaks, the beauty that he is....

Even in the horrible recognition he felt about god's power, the knowledge of it that hurts in a way more painfully than he'd realized was possible. The lightest touch, a chill upon his cheek begets a gasp, and then there are more touches, cold sliding - wetness - and Michael realizes he has tears in his eyes and on his face, pouring down his cheeks to drip off his chin and clog his throat and nose as Adam whispers "oh -" with a sound as if his heart could break.

As if it IS breaking.

Michael expels a sound he never thought he could or would make; it's almost a wail, and he nearly buckles, even as already he is sitting. It is as if all of him has lost strength, and all he can manage, can think to do is close his eyes as tears continue to come and to gasp out "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Adam."

Adam feels the noise that Michael makes— it rattles through his bones— and he immediately feels almost sick, stomach tight, eyes burning in response to Michael's tears. He swallows, lifting his face away from the archangel's, eyes rising as if desperately searching the air for words. "Michael, please," he tries, voice trembling. "Please... don't say you're sorry, not to me. And - you're - you're allowed to cry." Hearing him trying to stifle himself, STILL, after everything he has been forced to go through, all they have gone through together; it hurts.

"No," Michael shakes his head, reaching out even as he feels Adam doing the same, even as hot tears are burning in his eyes and he can hardly see a thing. "No, I can't - it's..." He clutches, wildly, at words, at his pain, trying so desperately not to hurt Adam with everything he is feeling, because no matter they share not a body, still they are linked. "I shouldn't, it's the way of things - I'm a soldier," the archangel nearly whimpers. He has never been meant to do aught but follow orders. And yet Michael cannot stop his feeling, cannot halt the pain and the wish of NO MORE that his very essence cries out with. It claws at him, and he cannot bear the pain.

Adam doesn't know what to do. At least, he isn't sure - Michael doesn't ...he has never collapsed like this into feeling. Of course he has said he was a soldier, that there is nothing else for him to be, before; and Adam has always looked into his eyes and stroked his hair (if allowed) and gripped the nape of his neck to tell him "no, Michael, that - a soldier isn't all you are. Not anymore. Actually I don't think it ever really was" shaking his finger and lowering his head, lifting his eyes meanwhile to focus on the archangel, in seriousness. Sincerity. And they've held each other before, too; Adam recalls one time in the cage when he clung to Michael for what felt like - and could have been, honestly - years. 

But for Michael to break down, like this; the keening-and-crying way, the with-absolute-power, no one-can-escape-being-my-father way. And not in the weird pseudo (or potential) possession, because there is nothing of Chuck's essence in Jack, just his energy - it's like siphoning gas from one car and putting it into another; as long as the car takes the same type of petrol, the engine will still run even if it's a different make and model. A snort, scoff cloaked in bitterness as much as irony, and phlegm - how quaint, this particular analogy, as if divinities are cars. As if Castiel really COULD possess a crack in his chassis. Or, worse, perhaps - if the crack was actually a component that made him stronger in some way, than God. 

_No_ ; Michael is warring with himself, sour thick taste rising in his throat. Yet his father had killed him, for nothing - _NO, I DESERVED - I WAS NO LONGER THE GOOD SON_ \- no one deserves that. Not even the Darkness. No, there was a Plan, there had been a way. Always, there was a way.

_Free will is an illusion, Dean._

Michael is shaking his head, his entire body. He had spake thus, and believed; had only felt that belief pushed down after more than a thousand years, wrapped, entwined with the soul of a pragmatic being who said "y'know what, take it or leave it, but I believe choices exist and mine mean something to me." A pause, a squeezing of his hand. "And yours mean something too. They do, you know."

And Adam had given him such an affectionate indication then, as much as he does now, chin nuzzling into Michael's shoulder, arms linked tightly, bracing around his back. And Michael, insomuch as his very self cries out in agony, still finds the tiniest shred of sanctity in that steadfast hold - an indication, and the greatest gift he has ever received:

_"Your choices, they - and your life - mean something to me."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a longer chapter, but I think Adam and Michael deserve these moments together without anyone else. Even as Adam is at a loss and Michael is in so much agony.
> 
> Comments appreciated


	17. Understand about Indecision

Jack stares. He stands in place and shakes after his uncle leaves with Adam. He knows, can tell that the power signature just fizzes, doesn't disappear entirely, as they transport into Adam's room. Yet everything is off-kilter for him and he really needs to keep himself from buckling or crying _-again-_ probably, because who does that when they're God? 

Who does that when they're a Winchester?

Speaking of that, has Sam snarking something at Dean, low, even as the largest Winchester tries to clumsily turn Eileen so she can read his lips which he over-enunciates with from worry, and her head snaps up as she spits out "Fine, Sam," tapping her hand in the f symbol against her chest and jerking her arm outward in what seems almost like fury. "I'm fine, and I don't need you to do that," fingers flying as she punctuates her words, her auburn-brown hair swinging as angrily as her voice and movement snaps. "And YOU," she's ducking underneath his arm then, or actually not needing to duck, just stomping around Sam with a glower. "What the hell, Dean?" Eileen demands, fingers and hands moving sharply, almost like punches as she gets more upset, the more she signs. "What's wrong with you? In here ready to pick a fight with an _archangel_ " fluttering her hands like wings, she shakes her head and makes a circle in the air with one palm. 

Jack catches his breath. He hasn't seen anyone act or react in such a way to Dean except for Sam and Castiel - who has one hand underneath his elbow, now, bracing the nephil, helping him stand - but Eileen isn't backing away, she's demanding that Dean tell her what is wrong with him to make him, cause him to act like that. 

Dean is shaking his head, putting out an open hand, catching his own chest and half-sitting, half- crouching backwards, leaning against a table leg. "What - oh come on. He's a dick, alright?"

"That doesn't make it a good idea to throw down because oh, I just walked away from God, let me try and punch an archangel's lights out!"

"What's wrong with doin' that?"

"What's wrong with that, Dean? I don't know, maybe your family wants to..." Her hands stop as she looks at Sam, gesturing for him to talk to Dean. He's your brother. "I know it's not my place, but I've been alone way too much. Trust issues." Something flickers in Sam's eyes as she says that, and she nudges him. Some little private thing, but dark eyes lock on bright green again and Eileen is adding "...I know what it looks like and feels like not to care. And I just - don't know why you'd be this way, anymore." 

She just looks at him, steady and wondering. Discerning. Not exactly disapproving, more frustrated. Pretty par for the course for Dean; Jack sees him swallow, the apple of his throat bobbing deeply as he shifts his shoulders and prepares, probably, to laugh or joke or explain away, but then Dean nods.

He nods, and rubs one palm roughly over his hair, and says something that if Jack really wanted to listen closely to, he could hear; but honestly he's more concerned with what his uncle said about his power and how everything will be the same, and he wants to keep helping people and answering their prayers, he just...

He thought it would be freeing. For Michael to know his father's power was not being used the way Chuck had been using it. To be brought back, to be with Adam. He thought he could help, but Michael is not handling that. Maybe he still thinks the power belongs to Chuck, maybe it shouldn't be Jack's. Maybe his ideas to remake Heaven and give a share of power to all the angels so they can build too, equally, and be a family -

Perhaps it is nothing more than a dream. A ridiculous notion fuelled by nougat and sugary cereal and the warm and gooey love Jack feels for his own family. The desire to make everything okay for them, to do right by them.

To really, truly, finally be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get the sense that Eileen would not take - and she'd also be able to see straight through - Dean's bullshit.
> 
> Also lip-reading is notoriously difficult but Hoh people can get frustrated (in my experience) by over-enunciating if it comes across condescending. Which Sam isn't trying to do here, he's just really rattled.
> 
> I think Jack is the absolute sweetest young being and he deserves all the hugs and all the nougat <3 <3 <3
> 
> Comments appreciated


	18. I get Behind

Slowly, so slowly, Michael's hold on Adam becomes less in anguish and more of relief. His nose slips to rest against the side of Adam's neck, and he nuzzles his drying cheeks into warm skin, feeling the prickle of goosebumps as Adam automatically shivers, his body sensitive to Michael's touch. The archangel hums, smiling slightly as he purses his lips and presses them to Adam's neck, once and again and again as Adam's grasp tightens around Michael's shoulders and back, his palms running up and down Michael's vertebrae.

Breath catches as Adam automatically tilts his head, allowing Michael access to the hollow of his throat and down to the place just beneath that where his collarbones meet. He gasps, almost letting out a groan of Michael's name as the other nuzzles into him and then licks at that space at the juncture of his clavicle, turning Adam's legs to jelly and making warmth pool in his chest and stomach as well as other places.

They never had this before; not this level of physical intimacy. Theirs had been something bound in glowing ropes of Grace, beaming from the light of the soul, for hundreds upon hundreds of Hell-years and then for the fleeting time they had together as one being above ground. But this...it is tangible and real in a different way that both can so truly _feel -_ the rasp of teeth against stubble, prickly on jaw, the shivering huff of breaths over skin soaked in salt both from tears and sweat, residual there.

And there are layers, now; of clothing, yes, but also muscles and skin and sinew, flesh and blood and bone, the beating of hearts in time and tandem. And Michael is feeling for the first time not only the terrible certainty of godly power always utilized the same, but of better feelings; warmth and comfort and safety, and what he has come to recognize as love.

A deep, abiding love that tears as much as it strengthens; that, when lost, had stripped him of his choices more completely and utterly than any dominating force that was his Father's. For his choice had been to be with Adam, and when to dust he did return, there was no such choice.

There had been nothing. 

Which is why the archangel holds so tightly now, for he cannot be sure how long this will last. But he will keep Adam safe and close, he will let this being know that he is loved, for however long he has.

That is his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit short but I'm working out what's going to go down next, and I wanted some sweet moments for these two. Also, the nuances of their coexistence are incredibly intriguing to me.
> 
> Comments appreciated


	19. Living in Competition

_"I don't deserve what he put on me, and I don't deserve to go to Hell!"_

Dean straightens out and then curls his fingers, tightening them into a fist and checking the knuckles, tilting his hand back and forth. As if his wish to whale on Michael had manifested in reality, as if blooming over the skin would be purplish bruising, flesh splitting, knuckles swelling as blood trickles down his fingers, bright and deep at once, cool sluice of liquid...but no, he blinks; the thought of throbbing around his eyes, of spots in vision, aches and the sharp agony of broken bones, cracked ribs. What Chuck bequeathed unto them _\- Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go ...?" -_ and what Jack had fixed after, knitting Dean, knitting him and Sam both back together.

Because they did not go. Not without their story being written anymore. They weren't - maybe, they weren't meant to go.

Dean doesn't know what's making him remember all of this right now; how desperately he'd shouted the words about not deserving - at a dreamt version of himself, no less - so long ago. Everything but the cases they worked ran together; cases and the hanging over his head of his demon deal sending him to Hell. Of the time before heaven started beating on him too, after months...and the battle with the divine, that Herculean effort - or would it be Sisyphean? He doesn't know, that's probably Sammy. Somethin' philosophical he probably read in college, nerd. But the effort of that cave, of shouting into darkness and not wanting, not being able to leave... Dean remembers that, incongruously; a little dog-eared book in the corner of one of the bookshelves in his English class. When his teacher said he had to read something, he'd picked that - small and thin. Some old guy, he remembers cracking "Well pal, this is all Greek to me" when his teacher told him he had picked a text by Plato, a Grecian philosopher, the disciple of Socrates, who Dean might've heard of.

That was his first book that he'd chosen himself to read for school, and then when he handed it back and said he couldn't stop thinking about it, there was a smile and an offering of another small book, top half of the cover blue with a man sliding down the words of the title, _Slaughterhouse Five_ by Kurt Vonnegut.

And THAT book...it was amazing, partly for the first common instance of the word "motherfucker" being used - according to Billy Pilgrim, at least. What a guy. Dean felt like him for a long time, in an endless war until being scooped up to some alternative space where those powers like were had by the damn aliens...woah. Hold up, why the hell is he spinning through this shit in his head? He's not Sam. Sammy's the nerd, even now he's probably going to get some research for Jack or maybe on Michael. What the hell are they going to do about him? And Adam?

Ugh. Pressing palms to the sides of his head and pushing fingers through his hair to link them together, just once Dean wishes he could have some peace of mind.

He feels a presence come up next to him and hears the throat clearing that tells him, even if he hadn't already known just from footsteps, it's Sammy. Dean's eyes flicker up as Sam clears his throat and rubs his chin before bending his huge body like some sort of Jack in the box to sit down next to Dean on the one step down into the atrium. 

Dean expels a little snort of fondness. "Hey Sasquatch."

***

Sam settles next to his brother and smiles softly, even as he studies Dean with a little wrinkle in his brow. "How's it going, D?"

Dean huffs out a chuckle, or what might be one, as he rubs the back of his neck with a hand and then slaps his hand against his leg. "How d'you think? We've got renegade ex-deities and a kid god and an archangel who's barricading himself and our brother in a friggin room, not to mention -" his voice cracks as he glances at Jack who is talking softly to Cas, and the latter glances over at Dean, the look in his eyes settling in Dean's innards somehow and just, damn it - 

Sam shifts and chuckles a little as well, scratching at his hair and nodding. "Yeah, okay, guess I - shouldn't ask." He drops his hands to press them together between his knees, shoulders hunching forward a little as he asks "...so what d'you wanna do?"

A hand on Dean's shoulder precedes a touch to Sam's and his features go soft as he looks up. "Drink?" Eileen presses first three fingers together, thumb and pinkie folded into her palm as she makes a series of small movements to her mouth with her hand. Eyes crinkling, "We can go to the store," she offers. "And then make something."

"Yeah, that'd work," Dean looks over at Cas again and Sam sees it. He sighs, registering between them what has been there for years, but it holds something else, like a tipping, an urgency. He's going to have to talk to Dean, or rather corner him because his big brother sure as hell won't divulge anything voluntarily. Still. He looks at Jack, then, who seems so lost - and Sam's chest clenches. 

"Jack," he calls softly as Cas puts a hand on the young one's shoulder. "Hey bud, do you want to come to the store with us? We can get some candy bars if you want." Jack looks up and then from Sam to Cas, the latter smiling and giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"Yes, I - okay, Sam." He smiles. "I'd like to come."

Sam smiles back, opening his arm and there's a relaxed, happy - no, not simply happy, a carefree look on his face that it feels so good to see. "Good."

The brightness of his face, of both their faces makes Dean clench his jaw and swallow hard before he lets out a grunt and pushes himself upright. "All right. I'll drive," he offers. Glancing over his shoulder as he turns to follow Eileen who opens her mouth in a grin and signs excitedly to Jack, the eldest Winchester locks eyes with Cas. "Cas, you -" 

Those blue orbs send a jolt through him as he nods. Opens his mouth to say something else and then simply breathes, licking his lips and lifting his hand to Cas.

Castiel replies "I'm all right to stay here and watch over Michael and Adam, Dean." He may say or do something else, but Dean nods jerkily and whirls around too quickly to see, going for his coat as Sam hands Eileen hers and she wraps Jack's around his shoulders. They'll just have to bring back some burgers and beer.

Yeah. That'll be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a breather chapter, I'd call it. Jack will be saying some things next chapter, and perhaps so will Michael...
> 
> *Italicised quite from the bible, Isaiah 6:8  
> 'Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!"'
> 
> *Eileen is making the asl sign for drinking beer, lmao
> 
> To those who continue to make a positive difference in this world, furthering equity and fostering compassion and understanding, I send my gratitude and work on this Martin Luther King day.
> 
> Comments appreciated


	20. All I Want

It takes a while. A long while. Neither one of them knows precisely how long, but eventually Adam stretches his torso, twisting. Slightly sticky skin rubs against cloth of shirt and hoodie and the tousled curls of Michael's hair as his fingers run, push through it and stroke down to squeeze his skin, thumb brushing against jawline and cheekbone and shoulder. "...I hate to say this," Adam groans, slate blue-grey-teal tint of his eyes sparking in something like mischief, but also necessity. He barks out a tiny laugh. "But I think I - I really need a shower."

Michael tenses. Tenses as Adam stretches, as his hips twist, warm heft of muscles in his arms moving, and he flings himself out of the bed to stand. Scrubs at his hair and then his face, and mumbles about the relief of having a shower, and the door to the bathroom being in his room as well. Convenient. And then his lips curve, he almost chuckles as the archangel is up and standing before him, glaring around the rough dark wooden doorframe into the bathroom.

It's dark, but earthly darkness. There's the hum of wires, the strange spark of electrical things that is so small, yet different than the wretched ruddy light of fasting fires, of that inexorable heat that coiled and rose to dry their skin and sting their eyes, to stab into their beings in the Cage. How the pang like a wreath of thorns ever tightened around their beings, their existence. If not tangible in the earthly sense, still it was for hundreds upon hundreds of years....

A shock, a flinch as leaning in to make a movement; small and deliberate uptick of that electric outlet, the light switch that brings a harsh light into their eyes. Yet it's a comfort not to have the soft light of the Pit, the bloody, ruddy red...

Adam leans past Michael with a pat upon his shoulder, a grasp that centers and grounds the archangel even as he readily winces again when the other opens the frosted glass door, heavy, and twists metal to turn on the shower. A hissing spatter of water rises up in the room as Adam opens a creaking wooden door to find a towel, and cake of soap - Michael surprises himself by recognizing things, even as his nerve, his power thrums and wings, were they to be seen, flutter. Eyes sharpen upon anything and everything that could be a danger to Adam within this space.

Of course, on a larger scale, there is the being who now calls himself God, that young half-angel whose gracelight was such that it looked bright and blinding, as...

As Lucifer's had once been, when he still resided in Heaven. Michael's gaze snaps to focus again as Adam shifts and drops clothing "Hey, Feathers, calm down, the water's getting warm and you know me, won't be a minute," because he remembers vividly how as soon as he could once initially topside, he had convinced Michael to let him take a shower rather than the angel snapping his body clean. "It's relaxing," he'd said with a grin. An ease, the first including an aspect of awe because, yes, it is possible to _relax_ now. 

Michael thinks of that, and knows he will not relax if Adam is even slightly out of his sight, so before the glass door even closes behind him, Michael is also unclothing and stepping into the spray. 

Adam has grabbed up a bottle, as apparently the Winchesters had stocked up on toiletries; Michael's eyes narrow and he automatically grabs for it, wondering if perhaps they had added some unsavoury ingredient - and Adam yelps at his nearness and sharp movement, thick shampoo liquid squirting out over his hair and down his face.

Shampoo gets into Adam's eyes and he flails, hand smacking Michael in the face. "Aah!" He squeaks and the other has put the showerhead blast on full-force, both hands grabbing Adam's face and pushing him under the stream, fingertips wiping at his eyes. It is all incongruously gentle after getting him beneath the showerhead, and Adam gets the giggles after spitting water and cracking "Well I guess that's one way to drop the soap," his manner deadpan, all squinting eyes and stringy tufts of soaking hair set off dark behind rising steam.

Shock of Michael's appearance and nearness is wholly dispelled as he tips Adam's head back to run water across his eyes, lips, and cheeks, flushing and clearing the stinging soap away. So intense, intent, yet with the lightest of touches that flutter against skin. Warmth and contact of enfolding arms in water, scrubbing then to clean skin (and glowering distrustfully at an unfamiliar object - "Michael, it's a loofa," Adam says) despite, or because of, the intensity of such care and concern feeling safe and protected.

Whole, for the first time since they were together, topside, in the diner as one being; able to breathe easily outside of the Cage.

***

Michael stops by the door, or rather the entrance of the hall, subsequently; one hand wrapping around his opposite wrist as Adam, behind him, rubs fingers through his own still-damp hair. The archangel feels a thrumming of energy emanating from the open area in this - bunker. Place intended to protect, to preserve, and perhaps inevitably, mostly to cut off from the outside world.

Recognizing the power, flashes of _I'm a writer, writing is like lying._

_We're your FAVORITE story - so what, you just wrote this, the Apocalypse - you knew everything, you watched it all happen -_

_You want it all to end? Fine. The end._

_...I never liked you. You were too - haughty. In the words of an old friend, you had an entire oak tree shoved up your ass._

_Lucifer was the smart one._

Michael roars, howls inwardly, in impotence. He very nearly throws himself into the main room to fling himself at and grapple with Castiel; but this time Adam is here separately, putting a soothing hand upon his arm. And... Castiel had shown him ...truth, such as it was. His Father's, their Father's actions. And somehow that - if not providing assistance, had opened Michael's eyes.

For better or worse.

Now he is staring at Castiel, who sits in front of one of those screens. Computers. Yet his gaze is unfocused, his elbow resting upon the table, and one hand scrubs across his face, soft and round and with creases at the outer corners of both eyes. He appears - tired. Exhausted, even; in a human sense, because of the sight of his vessel, but the archangel bears witness to the depth of exhaustion within Castiel. 

No matter that he does not wish to feel anything but ire towards this being, this seraph who always was different, he does feel recognition. It is a feeling he shares, having been returned from that dread place. The Empty. The Shadow's realm. There was a deeper power that had saved them, bringing them - tugging them back through the writhing mass of cold and dark and endless sleep, the dreams that left naught but echoes of loss....

Michael staggers, falls and yet is caught by his human, his person in Adam, a being so bright and steady. A light in darkness, even as blue eyes sharpen to stare at him across the table, and Castiel makes a movement to ...do what? Come near out of pity, concern, distrust...?

Adam holds his arm, still, and murmurs "here, c'mon Michael" even as he is stiff and still; even as he glares with such force upon Castiel it is as if a desert wind would blow and catch and burn across his face; and yet he allows himself to be guided by Adam's steady hand. And so he sits. 

Michael sits across the table from Castiel, feeling a chasm cracked and stretching deep between himself and his brother, for despite everything that is what they are - and empathy flares within him, then, burning sharp as he glances at Adam, settled close beside him, and recalls asking if Adam had forgiven Sam and Dean. 

The _'no - hell no'_ so sharp and clear, causing a ripple of warmth within as his other half understands, intensifies as Adam shifts his hand to clap Michael on the shoulder and then with a small grunting sigh, drags another chair so to settle beside his angel directly as the query put towards him - towards them both - causes Michael's form to instantly tense.

"Michael, Adam. How are you doing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on Dean Winchester's birthday, here's some soul bonding and brotherly angst
> 
> Michael has some...issues with Cas
> 
> Comments appreciated


	21. Have some Peace

Objectively, is it easier to breathe when one is outside than when in?

Jack figures yes, and no. Yes if it's possible to handle the pain of thought and feeling that can be... if not lessened, given more space to do ease. He tries desperately to recall what he had said to Dean about pain; naivete incarnate he had been, then. Before he knew he was a monster, before he really hurt... Yet now he has power to help, he MUST help. Jack feels a deep thrumming low-grade scream within, the beating back of darkness...yet more the light, for Chuck was light. 

If light could destroy, raze and not merely end so much; if its Creator, its very essence can care so little, burning through all of this world and into so many others as like and different, then - Jack's fingers feel distant and cold as they fumble at the door handle, as he hears the creaking of chassis in the Impala, ducking into the seat behind Dean as Eileen slides behind Sam "Okay we're heading to an actual store," Dean announces.

"D, what's wrong with the supermarket?"

"Nothing, Sam, except for the fact we need a buncha stuff to eat an' we need some variety. We need all the types of candy bars, not just two. Right Jack?"

There is silence, eyes catching each other from both Sam and Dean in the front seat as Eileen signs from the back. "..Jack?" Dean turns his body around. "Hey, kid -" 

Everything is whirling, echoing, sound and light and color, and Jack is tapping his fingertips against the sides of his head as he hunches forward in the car and his voice sounds strange as his body seems to roar. But "Right," he manages. He has to stay himself. Has to act normal. What is normal, for someone with the power of God? He isn't sure, he is not sure of anything... But something steady, high, repetitive is traveling through him, and Jack registers

"Dean, please just drive and stop miming a friggin violin." Eileen is grinning, her hand tapping over the speaker near her seat as dramatic guitar-as-viol strains burst into the cab of the Impala and Dean is glowered at pointedly by his exasperated younger brother. But he puts his arm up, bending the opposite elbow, sawing perpendicular with a rough near-bellow of _'How long! How long, how long to the point of no retur - urn!'_ His eyes catch Jack's, and over the ringing in the nephil boy's ears is a searing intensity.

 _'Your father, he said he needs you; your mother, she says she loves you. Your brothers, they echo your words..., how far, how far, to the point of no return (Point of no return) To the point of no return.... Aah, oh oh how long?'_

More scrabbling of invisible strings and swerving and Sam yelling "Dean!" But Eileen is laughing and Dean grins and winks, and Jack finally manages to focus past the ringing in his ears, the echoing emptiness that is the enormity of his power, breathing and nodding, even managing to smile at Dean as he chants _'How long?'_ out the windshield, and at Sam, shouting into the roof of the car and into the steering wheel. 

It's the first of many performances en route to the specific store Dean has decided upon, and Jack is pulled completely into the present by a squeeze of his hand from Eileen. She smiles and signs to him, which he nods to and follows her out of the car, signing effortlessly back. One boon to being God is the ability to understand and speak all languages, including sign language. Suddenly the power is worth it for the joyous expression flashing across the female hunter's face. Her hands move far more quickly, freely as he sees and understands her signs and responds to them whilst they four head in a loose group into one end of the store through a sliding glass doorway.

Sam and Dean notice; or Sam does, he seems to be smiling with a sort of wistfulness in his eyes. Dean gets focused on grabbing food, having snagged a cart and pushing it up and down aisles like a maniac. Once he's dumped a huge amount of things into their cart he comes to Jack's side and says gruffly "how 'bout it, kid? Pick something you'd like." 

Sam and Eileen have moved and Jack looks to Dean in some surprise. The other's rough hand comes down onto Jack's shoulder. "I mean it. Let's get you some... nougat, or - what else -"

"Cereal," Jack interjects. Dean blinks. "I... I ate cereal with Cas," the memory of that night hits him with a rush of feeling, desire to be himself without this godly power, even as on that occasion he'd asked Castiel questions because he didn't have a soul - yet even that, the way Cas spoke to him about his experience, about Sam, and Dean - overcomes Jack in a manner so strong that he shakes. Nearly buckles.

Dean keeps his hand on Jack's arm, tightening his fingers as they encircle the young being's bicep. "Whoa, Jack -"

"I - want to go back." Voice trembling, Jack raises his eyes to Dean's and sees him as through a film, light around fuzzy and thickening. He hauls in a shuddering breath. "Wh - I wish I could go back."

"Hey, hey." Looking around furtively, Dean shakes his head, steps close. "What, to before all this?" A nod. "Before we beat Chuck and Cas went to the Empty?" Another nod. Dean sighs explosively. He grabs Jack's arms with both hands. "Sammy -" he hisses, but Sam has retreated down an aisle with Eileen, and is either out of earshot or he's pretending to be. Terrific.

Obviously Jack doesn't want this power. He's scared. Dean can see why, he can. But what Jack has already done... 

"Hey," Dean reaches out and puts a hand on Jack's neck and face to hold him. "Listen to me, Jack. You've done good with this power, okay? You brought Cas back, Eileen back. Adam, and Michael - even if they won't talk to us or stay or anything, you did that. Hell, you brought everyone back." Eyes on Sam and Eileen, Dean's face grows soft before he hears Jack sniffle and curls his hand around the back of his neck, bracing and rubbing soothing circles on his skin. "It's a lot, I know it's a lot. But...you gotta know," Dean's throat works as a muscle jumps in his jaw. As he thinks, even as he doesn't want to, but recalls himself after Cas had gone, after he was alone on the floor of the panic room, sobbing - how he'd dragged himself into the atrium and then the war room, grabbed every possible drink he could find and carved scars of letters into the surface of the table before blacking out drunk on the floor.

He knows the kid isn't going to understand this - or maybe he will, Dean doesn't know whether or not being God provides some snap of higher understanding - but he shifts both hands to hold onto Jack, opening his fingers a little around both of the boy's upper arms and ducking his face to focus on Jack's eyes. "You did good, kid. You saved them." _And me._ Come on, Dean. Just say it. Dean clears his throat, sucks in a breath. Coughs. Jack's eyes get wide, he wipes tears off his face and asks if Dean's okay, and Dean sighs. No, but is he ever? He cracks inwardly. Might as well admit something, say this. "...I was never much for believin' in God," he tells Jack now. "Sammy was the prayin' type. Hell, before I met Cas - nothing. But now I pray to him, I believe in him. And I - believe in you." 

A slight self-deprecating smirk twists his lips at all of his unuttered words, the feelings he has; and as his chest feels like it's been struck and held by weight, heart thudding heavily, Dean pulls Jack closer. He rubs his hand over Jack's hair, uttering in a mumble "And doing that saved me." Before he slaps the nephil on the back and tells him to pick his poison as they head together to the candy aisle.

He keeps a hand on Jack's shoulder and looks at him as the other settles himself and strives for a smile. He's trying so earnestly, and again Dean feels an ache. Jack is always doing things with his whole heart. Like Cas. He's just like Cas. Why that hits him so hard now, Dean doesn't know. But he's got to be here. He has to help, the way he's done for - more than he's done for his best friend. Because what hits Dean so hard and causes that pain, no matter how he tries to swing it, is he hasn't done right by Cas. Not nearly enough, anyway. He's still sitting here not saying anything after what Cas told him before getting sucked into the Empty. Well, hell. Again assailing Dean are emotions and the desperate fruitless hope that Jack isn't privy to them. His hand trembles and he clenches it in a fist before knocking Jack's arm and dropping. Jack offers a smile which Dean does his damnedest to return.

They've got this. Whatever it is. Jack's got three boxes of cereal and a big bag of candy bars, and Dean grabbed booze and beef for burgers. Of course Sam is getting his rabbit food salad and Eileen is grabbing something practical like eggs, and they're gonna go back to the Bunker to deal with all this crap together. 

Dean feels... grateful. At least that's what he thinks this feeling is. It's too early for hope, but at least they're all going to be together to take whatever comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Together with Adam and Michael too... that's going to take probably all next chapter 
> 
> I wrote this chapter instead of sleeping, haha
> 
> As the title of this chapter says, it's some peace. Not all yet, and Dean has not even attempted talking to Cas, but he's trying to help Jack. And not out of guilt or obligation, either - at least not totally. He worries about the kid.
> 
> *'Point of Know Return' by Kansas is referenced and I feel tis apropos
> 
> Hope you are all well, comments appreciated :)


	22. [Who] They should Be

"How are we? How do you THINK we are?" Michael clenches both hands as screaming through his head after that simpering, false concern is _you're lying, I don't know what your agenda is - but you're LYING._ Why would things be any different now? There is still an agenda, just a different agenda. Now it's to preserve a power that only caused at the end razing, ruin.... "Let's think," tone of voice bitterly dry, icy as well as sardonic, Michael continues "After you consigned me to burn in holy fire before we fell into the Pit, and when we at last were together, free, you captured me -"

"Michael,"

"Demanded I help you -"

"It was necessary."

"Talked to Adam after the ABYSMAL excuse given for leaving him to rot in the Cage because you wanted, needed me to help you -" Michael's voice rises over top of Castiel's. "You got what you wanted! I helped! But in order to get what you wanted, you forced your... truth into my head without my consent."

"I had -"

"I. Don't. Care. Castiel, I don't care what you 'had' to do. You and the Winchesters say you have to do things, but you choose what matters the most. Nothing else is important to you. None of the agony you caused...," He ceases speaking, closes his eyes.

"You were not listening, Michael, time was of the essence -"

Michael waves his hand, chopping, and a slow deep rumble rattles through the room around them, jittering, clashing up the walls as shakes precede thumps and crashes of books and lights - the walls are shaking around as well as above them. One of Michael's hands slips under the table and bars of pliant warmth close around his clenching digits. Stroking the skin between thumb and forefinger and shifting fist atop knee, bouncing slightly but still stable. Still here. Even as Michael boils into a standing position and all of the lights screech and pop and explode in a ringing burst of sound as he snarls at Castiel "YOU UPENDED EVERYTHING I BELIEVED FOR EONS."

"Believed?" Quiet, then. So quiet. The archangel longs to lunge across that table and take down this seraph, end those words, destroy him utterly. Yet he is another angel. And even if _**he**_ has stooped so low as to kill his own kin, Michael will not. _Not again._ Last moments with Lucifer sear, blow through his brain with devastating force, leaving emptiness, barren, the recollection of having nothing. Of being completely, utterly alone. And this fallen being, so different from Lucifer and yet so sure of what their Father was, had ever been, WOULD ever be: "You said that word in the past tense."

Michael huffs. "Of course I did. I don't now," he spits, cold. Feral. He opens his fingers in the darkness and clutches onto Adam's tight and tighter. Settling his shoulders and raising his chin, seeing the other's gaze flashing on the dark, as red lights flicker on and some unholy alarum blares. The archangel feels a jump, a tensing, and pulls close as he speaks to Castiel plainly: "No one should possess the power of God, and none should be made to do one being's will. All that I have left -" if he could choke on tears, if this being were to do so - Michael hauls in a slow breath. "...All that I believe in is even now beside me." _And yet, again, all-too-easily, he could be torn apart and taken away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, I think Michael has every right to say things to Castiel. And when the others come back...
> 
> Comments appreciated :)


	23. Stand me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood and gore and pain below

"Well," Michael says. "Was it worth it? Capturing me, putting a target on my back? Did you get what you needed from the spell?"

Low light is still enough to see the guilty expression flickering across Castiel's face. Those blue eyes tell him as if in silence shouting - they hadn't, they didn't use it. After everything - painted a target on their backs, for what?!? Adam's hand tightens on his own and then releases as with a wordless howl Michael flings himself across the table, arms and body slamming full-force into Castiel, his head striking the other's jaw so that he sees stars as they go over. 

It is not a dignified battle, no blazing power or smiting, no careful offensive moves. It is all desperation and bitter rage, Michael's fists connecting to the softer portions of the abdomen of Castiel's vessel, hearing his gasps as he viciously grabs a handful of hair and slams the seraph's head into the floor. How a punch connects to Castiel's face and then he is rolling, kicking and writhing until both of their arms have gripped onto each other and they stagger upright, breaths harsh. 

Castiel's eye is puffing up already and there is blood on his lips. Not enough, Michael snarls and rears back, head-butting directly into the other's nose. There is a squelching crunch and a small wail as the heaviness of impact makes wavering light pass before the archangel's eyes as well. An intake of breath from Adam and his name, whispered. Barely a breath. Michael suddenly hears it, hears dripping, feels Castiel's hand clutching at his clothes, voice thick on mumbled words, choked on something borne of contrition but what good does a broken whisper of "I'm sorry" do?

"Michael -" suddenly a thrust of foot into gut, eyes flashing white blue; a hand on the archangel's wrist, flipping him to crash into the table, all his weight of wings and power sending a shearing crunch and splitting the wood with a _SNAP!_ "Stop," those icy piercing eyes, like clouds lowering, bore into the archangel and Castiel's stance, defensive, apologetic, turns fierce. 

A bitter laugh bursts mirthless out of Michael's throat and he twists, throws his body to bend legs beneath himself and drag himself upright. Spits a globular clot of blood from his tongue that he had bitten as Castiel forced him to fall, the heavy crack of bone to branch causing a full ache throb through his spine. But he shakes his head and focuses. This is what he does. He is a fighter. A soldier. And he's going to protect Adam, behind him, on the opposite side of the busted table that Michael throws himself off of. He pushes the hunks of wood away from his body with a screech.

His muscles clench and tense, deltoids trembling at the onslaught of weight as he digs fingertips into wood, tearing through, splinters stabbing into his skin and under nails even as a deep spearing ache bisects his body as Michael breathes. But he cares naught, he strains and pulls one half of the table to swing at Castiel, to just get him away -

And that's when the lights come back up, bits of glass reassemble, the locking mechanism makes a ker-chunk sound and footsteps precede bodies; one leading with head up, eyes a bright burning gold. The nephilim god, whose tone is sonorous as he raises a hand, palm open.

And somehow words crash into Michael even as ripping out of a throat is his own level of anguish, as it had been when Adam he had lost, on "Cas!!" Satisfaction thrums in his heart as Castiel staggers backwards, a thick rope of blood dripping from his face, congealing with drops between his teeth as he sways and buckles into Dean Winchester's arms, one hand tangled in the shoulder peak of that utterly ridiculous tattered trench coat, the other grasping his arm just above the elbow as Dean wraps his own arm around, coming close, holding tight. "You son of a bitch," he spits through his teeth.

Sam, the taller one, the abominable - he who had the chance, the longer time, who could have found a way to get them out of the Cage, to rescue them - he stares at Michael as if the shock and hurt, the expression of large-eyed fear could move the archangel. The audacity and the gall! No. No matter that Adam gets such a look in his eyes, but they are brighter, softer. Their gaze is firm and solid, real. 

And as if on cue, he hears Adam, body attuned so instantly to his every thought and wish and word, the archangel relaxes his hands and pushes the wood, reveling in the way the Winchesters jump, the way Castiel stumbles; the muscles of Michael's shoulders scream even as his lip curls, as he feels dark and petty satisfaction burrowing into and making a home inside his chest. 

Even as Adam reaches out, curls a hand around his and tugs him gently away, Michael makes a parting shot: "You never used the spell I gave you and my Father's power, His influence is not dead, so what point was there to anything you did?" His voice hisses fury. "What good have you been able to do, hmm? Bringing back the humans, Castiel, me -" flicking his first two fingers flippantly "- is nothing but undoing what my Father chose to do. No new energy, no real thought. Only base, simple, animal _need._ " 

Michael's lips continue trembling in disgust as he locks eyes on Cas and Dean, still leaning together. "Pathetic," he sneers, "unable to voice what is between you. I know. I KNOW." He jabs his hand into his own chest, splinters working in the skin. Spots of blood appear. But he only stands and grips Adam's hand tighter. "You fools - you think you found the answers when you know not the name of any feeling beyond desperation." Michael shakes his head, weight shifting on his feet as he turns away, speaking back: "I hold equal weight with what I love, but you, you cannot do that. You cannot see past yourselves - and what you say you HAD to do - to understand."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't condone this knock-down drag-out but Michael was gonna get his opinion out there and points across one way or another... 
> 
> Poor Cas. But I can see Michael's side of things so clearly. Please feel free to share your thoughts :)
> 
> Comments appreciated


	24. Won't back Down

"Michael, get your feathery ass back over here and -"

"And what?!" Michael roars. "WHAT? Fix this? Heal him, listen to you? You said I 'owed you one'" using scare quotes, eyes narrowed to slits, hissing as splinters pull and tear his skin. "But YOU never used what I gave you, you let Father's light eclipse the Darkness, _you_ lost the balance, you allowed its destruction, and I -" he chokes, spittle and blood dribbling over his lower lip as he lifts his hand, fingers wiping frantically. "...I am the good son, I -" his voice wavers, wobbles, breaks. The air warms and prickles as a desert wind whirls into the room, around and around and around "I was, I always was," he whispers, dropping abruptly to the floor. _I had to be. It's what I was made for._ As the wind rises he whimpers, the sound whining out of his throat mercifully covered by the immense decibel level of a swirling vortex of air.

Careful holding of his wrists, having never relinquished after catching hold subsequent to his fight, warm teal eyes look into his. "Michael, c'mon," Adam's voice is low, firm. "To hell with them. I'll get those splinters outta your fingers for you." He presses his thumb to the pulse point of the archangel's wrist and swipes circles into the skin.

It is then that the wind, come from nowhere, ceases now to blow as abruptly as it began. With an acerbic stare over his angel's shoulder, Adam provides the slightest bit of pressure on the underside of Michael's wrists and hands. "I got you, come on," he murmurs, shifting an arm to encircle Michael's waist as he stands. "Better clean up your boyfriend, he needs it," he snipes at Dean, and as Dean's head snaps up and he opens his mouth to retort "Yeah, yeah. Shut up, figure your crap out, and oh, how about you don't come find me when you finally have a comeback, thanks." With a nod and the smallest flattest smile, Adam lifts his brows as he holds on to Michael and takes him back to the room they'd been in. His stomach growls but he'll be damned if he's staying out here just for dinner if it's going to be like this for Michael.

Adam is rewarded with a look of adoring gratitude as he is leaned into by his archangel, and wraps one arm snugly around Michael's back just beneath his shoulders.

*** 

Through puffy eyes Castiel's gaze follows Michael and Adam until they round the corner in the hallway. He expels the slightest groan then as a spike of agony throbs with his heartbeat through his nose. A clot of blood drops and spatters, and Dean says "Shit, Cas. Here -" he reaches to the swelling of the seraph's nose, ready to pop the cartilage and bones back into place. He winces in preemptive sympathy as Cas whimpers, closing his eyes. 

"Dean, I -"

"Ssh, just hang on, pal." There is a thickness in Dean's throat that he works to clear after closing his hand with a sharp jerk to, with a crunching shift, realign Cas's nose. "It's gonna be - uh, here." He cannot say that it's gonna be all right, because what the hell does he know? What do any of them know? There's no story, no path; nothing, now. And then because he cannot help it, his voice hardening, Dean demands "What the hell happened, man?"

Castiel sighs in weariness, unable to muster up a glower, never mind a retort. "...what hasn't, Dean?" His voice is thick, nasal from the blood as, with hand going to the back of the angel's neck, rubbing across his nape, pushing fingers briefly through the thick dark hair, Dean puts pressure so Cas leans forward, a cloth shoved into his hands to staunch the bloodflow. Stroking his fingers through Cas' hair, Dean sighs, feeling the other lean into him. Even as Michael's snide words slash like hacksaws and stab like machetes inside. Bastard. 

Dean feels a clench, an ache, which he would normally combat by deflection, physically or verbally; but Sammy coughs quietly and says he's going to put away the groceries. Jack tries to put a hand out to Castiel, but "thank you, Jack, but I'm all right," his tone is haggard.

And as Dean snaps "Cas, don't be a dumb ass, let him heal you!"

"But I AM, Dean!" Lifting swollen dark-rimmed eyes, features white smeared carmine, making a sound stop in Dean's throat "after all I've done, I deserve this! Just - leave it." His voice snaps and there is a flinch from Jack, whose shoulders jerk as he backs hastily away. Breath catches as a trembling hand extends, but Jack exhales sharply, turns and snaps his fingers. With a heavy screeching shift, the two sides of the splintered table come back together and ducking his head, the boy practically runs from the space.

Dean shakes his head. Fantastic. Withdrawing his hand from cupping Cas' neck, he moves it to pat his shoulder. "Well that was a barrel of friggin laughs," Dean growls. Cas groans, dropping to a seat and tipping his head back. Dean's arm carefully snakes around his upper back as he settles down to sit as well. Looks away, eyes flickering around the room as he swallows. He has several other things he could say, but the way Cas looks slumped and small - hell, even more so than usual, his tired brain tries to crack - makes Dean swallow all of them.

All he does, all he can do, is sit with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're all tired, Adam is done with all the BS, Cas still thinks so little of himself. Poor Michael and Jack :'(
> 
> Comments appreciated


	25. Can't turn Back

Dean sits with Cas, one arm around his shoulders, fingers shifting up and down over the cloth that covers his arm lightly as he settles his legs, stretching them forward under the lip of the newly reconstructed war table.

Its center is bisected by a bubbling crack that regrew not as smoothly polished wood but, whether Jack had or had not intended, looks like a knobbly bulbous root stretching from one side of the table to the other. Creating buckles in the mountains of the map that run along those lines. There's probably some symbolic meaning or metaphor behind that, but Dean is too damn tired and he isn't one for fancy metaphors anyway. That's more Sammy's territory.

Cas puffs out air from his mouth, cooling trails of blood dropping down his face and drying slowly, sticky in his ears, under his nose and along the edge of his chin. His head is throbbing and heavy, so heavy, and he feels his hair slip as one ear and cheek drops to rest on the slightly rough cloth of a jacket. Dean - 

The seraph intends to shift, he knows how Dean feels about personal space, remembers what he's always told him; but a shift and grunt precedes toughened fingers catching the opposite side of his head and holding Cas carefully but firmly in place. And then the slightest scratch of stubble on Dean's face, the softness of his cheek is pressed to the crown of Castiel's head, and he isn't saying a thing but Cas feels his body still. He holds his breath, doesn't need to breathe but also is not one for arbitrarily abstaining from human convention that dictates breath or eating or... But he feels Dean beside him, so close, so _warm_ , and hates himself for selfishly taking this comfort from Dean when he has not indicated anything is different; what Cas wants he cannot have. That is that. Nothing has changed.

Nothing but Cas being tired. Feeling flayed, ripped open by Michael's words, by his own knowledge that of course he had done wrong by his brother, even if he never liked Michael, the archangel didn't deserve for his consciousness to be so violated as it had been. Had he not done what Naomi had done? Pulled away defenses like peeling back a fingernail to expose the endings of nerves? Thrown his truth - be it the reality of what their Father had done - into Michael's head, breaking him down. No matter it being for the good of the world, what is he? He should have remained in the Empty. After all he has done...never mind that it was for the good of humanity or for the world as a whole (or really, for Dean, because of Dean) he had done it - 

And he never had been able to do what he, all he wanted on behalf of Jack; no matter now that he is helping as much as he can, this sweet child is shouldering a burden he should never have to bear, compounded upon everything that, if he had told Sam and Dean of his deal, if he hadn't left wanting Dean to make him stay, if he hadn't used so much heart - that was what the angels said he had, too much heart.

He still doesn't regret that burst of perfect happiness he'd felt in voicing his love for Dean; that remains burning in him, a sustainable flame. But this - living yet in the aftermath, when his cut from getting blood for the death-defying sigil has scabbed but not scarred, when he has new physical evidence of his wrongs literally cascading from his face, it is nigh impossible for anything of happiness to surface.

And Dean... Dean is silent. Anything said, or wishing to be said, sticks in his craw like a burning coal and threatens to eat away more than his esophagus were he to speak. He swallows and clears his throat, only to gulp air and swallow again.

***

Dean's gaze is caught he isn't sure how long later when Jack passes through the hall with a plate. "S-Sam and Eileen made dinner, um." His gaze flickers from Cas to Dean and then down at his plate, or his feet. The set of his shoulders alone makes Dean's arm tense and fall from its place around Cas's shoulders. "I'm gonna kick his ass," he snarls, standing.

Cas lifts his head, shoots out a hand with eyes going wide, ready to take hold of the other's sleeve, if not his hand. "Dean -" 

"Michael said that shit, Jack heard, and look at the kid! He doesn't need -" Dean's voice breaks, wavering. "He already had to hear, I already said..." Shaking his head, jaw jumping, he looks at Cas, "I'm gonna - I oughta give that asshat a piece of my mind."

Castiel now stands up, taking a moment to orient himself and wipe at dried blood. "I will go with you." 

Dean's expression softens even as a crease remains between his brows. "Ah, Cas." Without thinking, he reaches one hand out and cups the seraph's face. There is a moment where both seem to hold their breath before Dean pats Cas on the cheek and says "You should go get yourself cleaned up, buddy," to him. And then, relinquishing and stepping back with a nod and small smile "I'm good." He watches as Cas nods, as he lifts that rag Dean had given him to scrub at the blood on his face, wincing when he reaches the bruising and swelling around his nose.

But "Okay, Dean," he says. And without hesitation "I'll just be down the hallway if you need." He expects a scoff, a rolling of eyes, a comment about being a mother hen or something along the lines of _'get out of my ass!'_ as he'd said so - it seems so incredibly long ago. But Dean's voice is soft, and - dare he think - loving? As he responds

"Thanks, Cas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the face touch Jensen reportedly wanted to give us, bless him
> 
> Dean is in protection mode and therefore about to go shout at Michael, Cas is like, 'please no look what JUST happened' but knows he can't stop Dean
> 
> Comments appreciated :)


	26. Your voice Explodes

Dean strides, stalks heavily down the hall, bootsteps echoing loudly on the floor. He pauses, turning as he waits a moment for Cas to actually head in the opposite direction. He needs to get himself cleaned up. He doesn't need to be a part of this, to get hurt any more. Dean gets to the door and hears speaking inside, the low murmur of what sounds like Adam's voice. He hesitates, because for all intents and purposes he doesn't actually want to screw things up any more for Adam, but the look on Jack's face and defeated cast of his shoulders decides for Dean. He slams his fist into the wood. "Michael! Open up you son of a bitch!"

There's silence, words broken off. Dean pounds again, rattles the knob. "Get your ass out here and talk to me!" 

Nothing. 

Dean breathes harsh through his nose, and then footsteps precede the clicking of a lock and then the door jerking open just wide enough for Adam to poke his head and torso out. 

"You can talk to me, though thought I told you nOT to come over with a comeback," he speaks coldly, tone dry as an eyebrow rises. One hand enwrapping what looks like a tissue with spikes of wood of various lengths and thicknesses, lighter color of wounds in the grain are covered with the rust-red of blood. "What do you want?"

Dean's voice hardens, booms as he jabs his finger at the mostly-closed door and demands "That asshole to get back out here, dammit!" 

Adam looks back, shakes his head infinitesimally and steps sideways to keep Dean's gaze on him. "Why should he, Dean? And what, exactly, did he do to you?"

"He's - he's a dick," Dean splutters, still furious. He thinks back. Michael called him worthless, said free will is an illusion... He was all set to stab Sam, to negotiate with Dean while his little brother was bleeding out - swore he needed to die, that the angels were going to follow God's plan and nuke half the damn planet. And now when Jack has all the power his dad had - "He's still advocating for us all to be Stepford bitches in paradise, that's what he's done to me! Can't handle someone else having the powers of his daddy, so he says shit about Jack, he puts Cas -"

Adam's chin rises, his eyes blaze as he steps out of the room and firmly closes the door, stepping forward, deliberate. Not allowing Dean in. "Oh, yeah? _After_ Castiel forced those memories on him. After he was left in the Cage when you guys, what, thought it was a better idea to let the friggin DEVIL walk free??" Dean blinks, eyes flickering. Adam continues, spreading his arms with a little bounce "And all Michael wanted initially was for you to say yes to him so he could do what he was supposed to! So he could get, he could earn his father's love! He thought if he obeyed he'd get appreciated for it, really be the good son and have God KNOW that and then _your_ stubborn selfish ass -" Adam pauses, licks his lips, breathes. He trembles but gathers himself, regaining control. Tone nearly casual, he continues "So hey, screw you, Dean."

Dean snaps back "Oh, you think Michael's so friggin fantastic, huh? Didja forget ol' Dickariah was under him, calling the shots that HE gave? Didn't see him get up in arms when you were hemorrhaging on the FLOOR—"

Adam blinks, jerks his head as the words hit, but then he says "The angels told me 'whatever was necessary'. If half the planet had to go, that's what was gonna happen. I didn't like Zachariah lying to me, of course not— but at least I found out Michael DIDN'T. And besides, that's not the point." Adam clenches his fists so tight knuckles bulge stark white. "Michael didn't even know me yet! And you don't know him, yet you're judging him for things that are just as shitty as the stuff you've done!" Adam scoffs. "You met him ONCE. You know what else? You met _me_ once. You decided who we were from day one. Michael was a smug self-righteous annoyance. Me... I was a burden. An obstacle. So you...you left us in the Cage." Adam's voice cracks on those words, and Dean blinks, mouth open, speechless. 

"Sure, I know. You said you were sorry. To ME." Adam's tone lowers. "But you don't care what you did to him, and I..." his voice trembles on a breath, agony in his bright gaze before it grows intent, contemplative. "I do. Yeah, Michael did some crap things. Sure. He was following orders, doing what he was told. I'm not gonna make any excuses or try to justify that. But _you_ did just as much, if not MORE crap after, what," cocking his head and making a show of pondering deeply "...When did John die again?"

The latter portion of those words shoot through Dean, making his eyes blaze, his skin burn. Even as a cold, horrible weight settles into his stomach and spreads icy through his veins as he registers what Adam is more than insinuating, he's flat-out saying. Dean moves sharply, hand whipping up, forefinger jabbing as he snarls into Adam's face "You shut your mouth -"

But Adam pushes on, bulldozing ahead with his words, tone rising again as he stands his ground. "It was two years, three years before you even mET me. So, heh. Maybe you left us because of some weird..." Adam's expression changes, shivering through pity, almost, before hardening again as he lifts both hands. "I don't even wanna know. But don't go thinking you're better than him when you won't talk or actually LISTEN to what he has to say."

Dean is floored, his mind whirls. He doesn't know what he expected, but Adam... The way he acts with Michael, towards Michael even as Dean _knows_ that he had bonded with Jack, and now, he's saying this - the fight goes out of Dean, suddenly. All but from his voice as he demands "What the hell does THAT mean?"

Adam sighs, leaning back against the door. He sees this so clearly. And Dean's just so bound up in furious denial that he's not able or willing to see. "I'm not gonna unpack your weird misdirected jealousy towards me being here, being okay" _being with Michael_ "or your beyond-reasonable hatred of Michael, Dean. That's your crap. Emphasis on 'crap'." He straightens up again. Pauses before adding "But just so you know, I'm talking to him. I've been telling him about what Jack's doing and what he wants to do. So don't get all," Vaguely gesturing at Dean where he stands like he's waiting to hit something "...like that. Like - you."

Pulling open the door again, Adam imparts "Oh yeah, and if you ever actually wanna talk instead of fight," drollity abounds as he looks back at Dean and adds, deadpan, before pulling the knob to and ensuring that the eldest Winchester hears the click of the latch behind him: "Feel free to keep on waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worked through a conversation with a friend and the results are here. Hopefully it makes as much sense as their fury and motivations are going to, there will likely be some fireworks in future.
> 
> I think I'm gonna have to add more chapters after all! I love Adam's clear, focused (and mostly) calm way of explaining things. Also protective Adam, yessss boy you take care of your archangel <3
> 
> Also, fuck off Zachariah, in my opinion the angel with the power to piss off everyone in the garrison.
> 
> Comments appreciated


	27. Inside my Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear and memories of suffering, as well as brief concern at the thought of self harm. NO self harm is suffered, however

Everything is whirling within him as Dean stares dumbly at the slammed door. 

He could probably break it down, or have Cas do it; or even haul something out of Baby's trunk big enough to bash the wood in - that big nail-encrusted bat might work, baseball throwback too; but he doesn't do that.

Doesn't even move for a while. 

Maybe he is overreacting to Michael. But hell, he still remembers the snide assurance, the confidence Zachariah had that he'd up and say yes. That he could throw Dean into all his imaginative little fantasies and Dean would just - bow down. Sure, ol' Dickariah had to have come up with some of those ideas on his own - apart from Gabriel, since when were angels creative? - but Michael had given the order. Michael had said to do whatever it took. He needed his Sword, and then, what? Just upped and chucked all that out the window, for Adam. Just - tossed Dean aside for his brother, like he's as worthless to everything, everyone as he has always thought. 

_Watch out for Sammy. Do as I say. Follow orders._ Daddy's blunt instrument. No. No, stop it. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head. _Sooner or later, everyone is gonna leave me. I'm gonna be the one to bury you! That's what I do, isn't it? That's my job, to watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother. Right, Sam? Sammy -_ in his arms, slumping; no, nonono, come on Sam - eyes going black, blood smeared across his chin, triumphant demonic eyes - no! Then Cas's face, bloody and beaten, but he's the one holding that shining silver angel blade - _Dean, stop._ And Jack, Jack watching him. Trying to mimic him. Jack's face every time Dean called him a monster. How everyone was angry and he wanted to be elsewhere. _I get so angry. And I can't - I can't stop it._ I'm so sorry.

Eventually Dean blinks and passes a hand over his face, the tips of his fingers smoothing down across his cheeks as he sniffs and feels as much as hears his stomach grumble. Which is a lifesaver as much as a betrayal, because however much he wants a damn burger he doesn't want to face Sammy right now, with those big puppy eyes and his litany of questions. He's always got questions. 

Dean sighs. He can go get something to eat, give the silent treatment and deal with the fallout, or forget it and go to his room, which with his luck will house Cas, and he'll be looked at and exhorted to speak for an entirely different reason, which he's more likely to give in to because he can't say no to those eyes - and then crashing in are Adam's words again and the look on his face, and fuck. Dean is so pissed and so drained, drained from being pissed and pissed from being drained, and he doesn't want to deal with anything right now but he especially doesn't want to deal with talking. So Dean figures the safest bet for him is to go by Jack's room, see if the kid has finished with his dinner plate and if he needs anything - what the fuck could he need, he's god - before making a run to the kitchen, grabbing food of his own, and beating a hasty retreat. Yeah. That'll be good.

Just has to hope Sam hadn't burned the burgers.

***

"Jack?"

Dean knocks, pauses, tilts his head closer to the door. "Hey, are you finished with your plate, kiddo? I'll, uh, take it in. Is Sam absolute crap at makin' burgers? You can tell me, heh." He snickers, licks his lips, and hears something. Steps, and a sigh.

"Nice. Really nice, Dean, especially since I made you one." Sam has come around the corner of the hall, plate in hand, towel over his shoulder. "You didn't come and scarf anything down yet so figured I needed to come get you," he says, and then before the patented huff and gentle 'what's going on, Dean? You can talk to me' Dean frowns, waving the food away. Something isn't right. 

Sam raises his eyebrows. This is a first. "Dean, are you sick?"

"Sh!" Dean cuts his brother off with an irritated chop of one hand. "I don't hear the kid. Jack! How long has he been in there alone?" Dean looks at Sam, and the shrug started melts away as concern washes over Sam's face.

"Whole time you've been out here, he didn't say much of anything when we were cooking, except this was his responsibility, his fault - Cas showed up to clean off, Jack left right before that and - oh no. Jack!" Now it's Sam's turn to pound on the door, tone loud, nearly frantic. " _JACK!_ "

"Screw this," Dean snarls and backs up. With what he knows about Jack and what he's seen before, they're done knocking. "Outta the way." 

With a well-placed kick by the knob the door explodes inward, he and Sam going after it, scanning the room, checking in the bathroom, no Jack. His empty plate is on the bedside table and Dean swears, whirling, hands up catching the hair on the back of his head. He shouldn't have gone for Michael, he ought to have checked on Jack. How could he be so _stupid -_

"Dean. He left a note." Sam's voice is wobbling as Dean whips around to stare at him. Movement at the door shows Cas, having run upon hearing shouting and likely the door splitting apart due to Dean. Eileen is behind him, frantically signing with one hand even as she's pulled her gun from the waistband of her jeans. 

The bruising spreading across the skin around and under the angel's eyes as well as on the bridge of his nose looks like a patchwork of purple storm clouds, but his eyes flash sharp as ever as he reaches out to Dean. As Sam sucks in air and shows scrawled on paper in his childish manner, k in his name backwards:

**Michael was right. No one person should have all the power. I'm going to fix it. I have to. Don't worry! ~ Jack**

Sam expels a wet almost-laugh as he exhales heavily. Eileen shifts past Cas and goes to him, wrapping her arms around his waist after flicking the safety back on and tucking her gun away. He in turn relaxes into her. 

Dean smacks his lips, looking quizzically from his brother to Cas, and realizing he'd grabbed hold of a hand, not rough as his own, but corded. Cas' eyes snap downward and he is looking at Dean's hand gripping his as if perplexed. Dean clears his throat and hastily withdraws. Right. They've gotta go find their kid. Their godly kid. "Oh he is sO grounded when we bring him back!"

Cas, his chin lowering with a sharp jerk in a nod, replies, tone of voice rising incongruously high in pitch "Agreed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well Jack is on the lam - if you call a three year old god trying to fix everything going on the lam
> 
> Also I'm trying to give Dean a realistic viewpoint, he doesn't just feel so strongly about Michael for nO reason
> 
> Cas's voice went high, ooh why I wonder?
> 
> Fuck Zachariah, again
> 
> Comments appreciated


	28. On the Edge

That whispering Jack heard, has done since he first was still after becoming god; when he heard the distant calls in languages aplenty and voices innumerable; when the sheer amount, the _weight_ of his power was like to crush him. To fuse and bend his bones, to meld them with some incredible light and heat and burn him, all of him to ash.

But there was a darkness, also; a quiet sense of calm, soothing - once Castiel had helped him, had spoken about the power and of sharing its weight, when Adam had held him and told him it was okay to feel whatever he felt, when Sam said that he forgave him, and Dean swore about how his vitriolic words were wrong...

And then, when Michael roared out that no one being should possess God's power, that had struck a chord in Jack. Whispering continues, telling him what he can do, to excise the power, and her, and Adam's rib; a familiar voice, powerful as Chuck's in a way, but bequeathing darkness, calm and peace, rather than sequestering, hoarding light.

Amara.

Jack knows he doesn't have much time, the Winchesters are already searching for him - he can hear their worried, furious cries. Particularly Dean's - his first thought, he'd never classify as a prayer, and the nephil boy would never call it such to him - was

 _Jack, I should've checked on you instead of going after Michael. Go- uh, damn I hope you're okay._ And then a burst of colors, the rapid-fire thoughts so characteristic of Sam, actively praying for Jack - and a lump comes to the nephil's throat as tears burn in his eyes when he understands about what exactly Sam was worrying. Oh, Sam. There were roars of thought, more expletives, and a demanding _you'd better not do anything stupid, kid,_ from Dean before a gentle if tired message comes from Castiel. Asking where he is, if he will tell them, and whether or not he wants help.

Something of the voice, though gentle, tugs at Jack, and so he exhales and prepares to tell Cas where he will be, once this works. If it works.

He had gathered the proper herbs, not because he requires them, but out of respect for the power of who he summons. He knows she likes her pageantry, and so using Amara's recollections, appears in the garden, place of the living, just beyond the cemetery in Lawrence, Kansas - where so much stood to end, and where subsequently so much began. 

_Yes,_ Amara's wisp of consciousness says to him. Adding as Jack turns his head _I would have remained here, if I could._

"It is beautiful," the nephil says, stretching his fingertips to touch the flowers, breath catching as he cups one between his palms before standing in a space marked by stones and Time, by grave dirt and the dust of the earth. Intermixed with the buds of life, green sprouting grass and little plants with jewel-bright flowers and pointed leaves. A rabbit hops by as a hawk screams overhead before diving.

Such beauty, such sharpness. The nature of life and death.

Jack kneels then upon the stone, bending and spreading his hands across the dirt. He cuts into the soil with the edge of one hand, his fingers curving to pull at grass, the roots and dirt, to make a space within which he places stones, bones of the Earth; water, the tears of the Sky; and cuts his palm with a bronze blade to provide the blood of a god, which he presses into the crumbling spongey dirt. He spreads out candles, then, and lights them. Not requiring a bowl or pool, for even mere drops of his blood are powerful. 

Settling back upon his knees and heels at once, Jack closes his eyes as he inhales and speaks. His eyes glow gold before wind rustles through the leaves around him, the sky darkening. He would shiver, were he alone, but _Don't worry,_ Amara's voice, her soothing presence stirs within him and at his shoulder. _I'm still here._

Jack nods, tries to relax as a howling seems to sound and resound, but at last the wind dies down and there is nothing save for his heartbeat and then tapping footsteps preceding a sweet burr of a voice. 

"My, when I told the boys I'd soon be seeing them, I must admit I didn't expect this to be who was doing the summoning!" Noticing pale skin and high heels, Jack raises his eyes to see a petite personage with bright lips and curling red hair standing across from his makeshift sigil. "Hello dearie," The queen of Hell purrs. 

Jack smiles, raising one hand as he climbs back to his feet and shuffling a little as he bobs his head to greet her. "Hello Ms Rowena. I, um, if it's not too much trouble, I - really need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short but!  
> Amara is a part of Jack, he's perfected communication kind of like angel radio, and he's basically created a spell (the idea is my own, as I was trying to find a specific spell used for summoning Rowena in-show but there apparently wasn't one. At least, not that I discovered) so I made one up.
> 
> The setting of this chapter is that of that little garden Amara was in Alpha and Omega. I set it near Lawrence, and Stull, because of the idea of endings and beginnings. What has Jack summoned Rowena to help him with? Hmmmm
> 
> Comments appreciated


	29. Holding [back] the Night

_I'm gonna try with all my might to make the storyline come true_

"Cas, get in the friggin car!" Dean grabs his coat and gun before throwing things one after the other from his room into his carryall. He'd charged in and grabbed his keys before running out the door and calling "You comin' with, Sammy?"

Sam nods, nostrils flaring as his shoulders settle, pushing back his hair. He turns to Eileen. "E, you don't have t--"

"Forget that, Sam. I'm coming along," she signs emphatically as they turn and ready themselves to follow Dean and Cas, his coat flaring. "Jack's your family, so he's mine too."

"What about --" he gestures helpless towards the closed door down the hall.

"If the archangel and your brother want to leave, or anything, it's their choice, Sam. We can't stop them. Or at the very least, we shouldn't, and besides - we'll be out." Flicking dark eyes from Sam to Dean, she speaks fiercely, stolidly. 

"No, uhm, I know that," Sam sniffs, smiles a trifle awkwardly, eyes big and worried. "About... I meant, about our agreement. I --"

Eileen's face softens. She tilts her head, lips pressing together. "It's a stable thing, in an unstable world." 

They've gone through the kitchen, Dean pulling up the lever turning on the protection because, he's not saying it, but if there still ARE any big bads out in the world he doesn't want them coming for Michael and Adam when they're alone. And, as he looks at Cas carefully unfolding a crumpled scrap of paper from one coat pocket and writing a note that he leaves on the kitchen table to let Adam and Michael know (whether or not they care) where they're going, Dean knows he wants anything that's going to happen be something they deal with. Or that he does.

Eileen now reaches up as Dean heads through the door into the garage. She touches Sam's face and says "I'll be with you as long as you need me. This is real, I know it is."

Sam nods to her, inhaling sharply as he covers her hand with his and then lunges, capturing her lips with his. 

Dean rolls his eyes and sighs. "That's great, but we got three hours to Lawrence if Jack's actually gonna be there, so will you at least get in the car?" Sam hardly acknowledges the words, shuffling forward with Eileen, hands dropping to bracket her hips. Dean thumps his hand on Baby's roof and crooks his fingers at Cas impatiently as Eileen giggles, fumbling to open the rear passenger door. Sam bends her back, scoops her up, and crawls into the backseat. "Good, just keep it down, kids. Cas, get IN." Dean practically barks the last, softening with a wheedling snapped "Please," as the other locks eyes with him and does.

All that Castiel responds with is "...I thought it takes three and three quarter hours to drive from here to Lawrence at the legal speed limit, Dean."

"Nobody c'n say you don't have a sense of humor, Cas," Dean snorts as he ducks into the driver's seat. Belting himself in and offering a wicked smirk sideways as the angel settles shotgun. "Since when do I do anything legal?" He turns on the car, pulling out one of his 'long drive' mixed tapes and cranking the volume.

A screaming guitar lick blasts around them as Dean stretches his arm across the seat, spinning the steering wheel to make a turn and head front-first out, tossing a "buckle up back there, Sammy! You too, 'Leen!"

For the first hour or so, no one makes remarks on what is playing. Sam has learned better, and he's rather distracted at the moment to boot. Part of the distraction, indeed, is keeping his worries about Jack at bay. To be concerned on behalf of a deity is an ... interesting experience. Much as his original care for Jack had been; manifesting as he saw so much of himself in the nephilim struggling to control his power, to understand the extent of it. And now it has such an immense amount of reach - Sam inhales shakily, and Eileen notices. She withdraws her face to look into his, eyes going over each one of his features. Curls one palm around his face.

"I'm - I'm sorry," Sam says faintly. "I just -"

"It's okay, Sam," her voice is warm as she speaks, lifting her free hand to sign. Her body is settled on his, resting on his chest. "You're worried, and you're allowed to be." Glancing at the back of Dean's head and feeling the engine vibrations under her, Eileen adds "Pretty sure Dean's breaking all the speed limit laws to get to Jack because he's worried too. You're not alone in this, Sam. Not anymore."

Carefully taking Eileen's face in his hands, nodding as their span encircles practically her entire head, Sam brushes back thick auburn-brown tresses mussed from his attentions. He is in awe over how steady she is, how strong. He had told her - or more accurately, let slip after the third shot of tequila - about the way he'd been corrupted. How he had a power that he tried to use for good but it was, it had been the most evil thing - he let Lucifer in... didn't matter that the whole horns and talons and pitchfork aspect wasn't real, he still had said yes to the Devil. But Jack isn't like that. Sam takes comfort in the knowledge that Jack has stayed on the right track, even with everything. Even when he hurt people, it was - it was never what he wanted. Sam accepts that somewhere within himself, not even buried all that deep, he had enjoyed the hurt. Not like Dean, the way his brother acted because the Mark of Cain corrupted him. Sam hadn't been corrupted, with the demon blood, what he felt, it was... Everything had been _amplified_.

A rhythmic thumping of bass and screech precedes Dean's ridiculous falsetto, which forcefully gets Sam out of his own head and he blesses the fact that Eileen doesn't have to hear his older brother's horrendous attempts now to emulate - it's either Robert Plant or Axl Rose - he's given up ever attempting to turn off Dean's music, never mind register the artists or call anything out. He simply sighs. And this time he has Eileen, who he can just hold on to and bury his head into her neck and shoulder. 

Sam now hears the low rumble of Cas speaking, preceding an incongruous bark of laughter from Dean, the sort of laugh where he tosses his head back and his eyes crinkle, a sound Sam honestly never thought anyone else could cause. It hits him with a sort of joyous, sickening clench in his heart and in his gut. 

Dean turns up the following piece and begins smacking his palms on the steering wheel, whipping himself back and forth, he looks over his shoulder to ask "You all right back there?" Winks at Eileen with one hand lifted. 

"Dean, watch the road!" 

The Impala lurches, prompting Castiel's lunge to clench his fingers around the wheel's edge and pull, hand over hand. Seemingly all-too-apropos are the words blaring out of the speakers:

_I can sleep on it til morning, but this nightmare never ends!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some tough thoughts from Sam :( but Eileen is actually the best, I adore her
> 
> Some of the songs I imagine Dean playing while putting pedal to the metal to go help Jack are:
> 
> 'Still of the Night' - Whitesnake  
> 'Love Bites' - Def Leppard  
> 'In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida' - Iron Butterfly  
> 'Highway Song' - Blackfoot  
> 'You Could Be Mine' - Guns 'n Roses  
> As well as plenty of Led Zeppelin, Bob Seger, Styx, and Boston
> 
> Comments appreciated :)


	30. Searching [for] a Clue

"How - um, how is hell?" Jack inquires of Rowena awkwardly.

The witch Queen waves her hand in aspect airy. "Pish, political drama still abounds even within my strengthening regime. Terribly dull matters really, dearie. I don't wish to bore you, but thank you for asking all the same." She smiles and steps close to him, reaching out and touching his nose with a finger. "Besides, you summoned me to ask for my help, yes?" She prompts, purses her lips and lowers her chin expectantly.

Jack shuffles his feet and pushes back his hair as some falls forward. He thrums with all of his acquired power and yet he wishes he did not have it. Power rolls through him, he feels it spark and seize. He focuses as best he can on the soothing darkness, that remnant of his great-aunt Amara, who remains and who Rowena came to know. Grounding him, accepting his choice. The first to know of it.

He suspects that Castiel has expected him to, or at the very least entertained the notion that he might do ... something, if not specifically this. Jack thinks of the Winchesters, so willing to sacrifice themselves. In this case, this time they need not. "I - want to do good, to be good," he feels himself tremble, voice squeak and face heat as he cannot help recalling every single instance of fear and death and agony he has caused; the people he has hurt and every mistake he has made. He knows Sam said he doesn't hate him, that Dean apologized. And Cas - Jack's breath heaves and his vision blurs. He expels a sob.

Castiel's care and devotion, his love for Jack has existed since and before the nephil was born, and even after the angel's initial demise when he was sent to the Empty. Every instance - he understands, with the power of godly omnipotence - even when he was not aware, Castiel has been his father, loved him as one.

Castiel is his father, and Dean and Sam, Miracle and Eileen, now, too - are all his family. 

Jack has that. He wants that, needs it. Cannot bear to leave, now, even as he said he would be everywhere before Dean practically demanded he stay. Yet if Jack is to stay, he knows he has to make things right.

"Please," the young being begs with tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he reaches out and grabs a startled Rowena by both hands, feeling a searing burn, a bar of heat beneath his ribcage. Nearly buckles. "I want to split the power - to divide it in the world. I want to give it up and I need you to help me. Please."

***

Driving into their second hour (after disaster caused by erratic steering had been averted), Dean stops as briefly as he can for gas and watches while filling up Baby, Cas with his focus intently on, the hunter guesses it's his bond with Jack. Which makes him think.

"Hey, uh, Cas," Dean carefully clears his throat as he calls, wincing and cursing inwardly at himself "...how, how's the kid? Uh, can you tell?" _How are you?_ Latter query hangs in the air heavy as they wait for Sam to get back from the restroom and Eileen from grabbing a few emergency snacks. 

Dean wants to go around and reach out, put his hand on Cas's arm or around his back, hang on and keep hold

_-Don't do this, Cas._

How can Cas be okay, really and truly? Particularly after THAT had been the last thing Dean said to him before he was taken?

_-...I cared about everything in the world because of you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack_

Jack, who might be doing something extremely stupid this very moment. Or naive. Cas loves that kid. And he loves -

_-You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know._

_I love you, Dean._

Something Cas knew he couldn't have, he said. And Dean hasn't said a damn thing. Not even thanks, let him know in some way, any way that was even close to enough, any way that mattered, any -

"Dean," and Cas has been back now for weeks but has Dean said anything? No, nada. Zip, zilch.

He still hasn't said a damn thing.

***

He has looked, though. And Sammy noticed.

"Okay, what's going on with you and Cas, man? You've been weird around each other - or weirder - since Jack got him out of the Empty." Before they'd gotten in the car to head to the store with Jack and Eileen walking ahead, signing to each other, Sam had watched Dean and Cas and their little nonverbal exchange. So similar and yet so different from the usual; and he looked to his brother then with those big concerned puppy eyes as he'd spoken, gotten Dean to pause. Dean swears then. Why does Sammy have to be so observant? But he tries to play it off.

"What the hell, Sam? I've just been checking on him. Can't a guy be concerned?"

Sam snorts. "Right, I mean, yeah, but every time you look at him it's when he's not looking, and then when he looks at you, you get all jumpy. Dean, level with me, man." hands curling around the back of a chair, Sam physically leans in and asks "How do you feel about Cas?"

"Wh— what the hell kind of question is that?"

A sigh and rolling of eyes. "You know exactly what kind of question it is, Dean."

Dean blinks, heart pounding. He hadn't told Sam what Cas had said, before he was taken, before he told Dean what had gotten him taken - and Sam just looks at him. That knowing look, with the slightest uptick of his mouth on one end, the rising eyebrows. The 'I know what's going on, I just wanna hear you say it' absolutely shit-eating little brother expression that never, EVER fails to piss him off.

As it had then.

"Sam, come on."

"No, YOU come on, Dean." His nostrils flared. He'd had enough. "I've seen - I mean every girl you get, you say what you think is suave, but a - a guy hits on you, your vocabulary's just– out the window. And then there's _Cas_...!"

"Oh screw you Sammy, what the hell are you talking about?" He turns away, strides across the concrete to the door, towards the garage and the Impala and freedom from this conversation. His heart is thumping. But Sam just keeps talking.

"Dean, you, you can't just ...hide this forever! From yourself, if not from me. I KNOW you. I've looked up to you my whole life, and you always do everything for everybody else. Can't you just do this for yourself? Tell me the truth?"

Dean scoffs, turns around with his hands curled; lifting one, then, with a gesture. "What do you want me to do, tiptoe through the friggin' tulips with the guy??"

Sam shakes his head. "I want you to be HONEST with yourself! You'd go to hell and back for me because I'm your brother... but you'd do the same for Cas. And after the Empty took him you even asked CHUCK to bring him back. Why?"

Dean purses his lips and then practically shouts "What was I supposed to do?! He's my best friend, Sam!"

Smacking his lips and pursing them very dramatically on the words "Yeah, and you asked - you _begged_ the god who took everything, who enjoyed taking everything from us for the sake of a 'good story' - for your best friend back." 

"Yeah I did." Deadpan, quiet. Utterly serious and with no hesitation. 

Jerking fingers frustratedly through his hair, Sam snaps "See, that's exactly what I'm talking about!" Dean wrinkles his brow and lowers it, confused, and Sam throws up both hands in exasperation. "Come on D, you're not stupid. You're saying it like, you've gotta know what that -"

"Oh but I've never been as smart as you!" Dean spits. "Sammy the brain. You think that you figured it - this - whatever the hell you think you've figured out, oh, great job kiddo," Dean bites sarcastically. 

"Come on... I'm– I'm not saying that..." Sam heaves a sigh. "You don't just - you don't demand that for _anybody_ , and it's — it was CHUCK. He could've killed you, tossed you back into hell, and you've been there— We've... we've both been there." Shakes his head. "Just..." Sam blinks, tears in his eyes. "Just, tell me. You can tell me, please." He bites his lower lip. "You don't have to be sc-- you don't have to..." With a heavy heart and an audible sigh, eyes soft and teary "I'm not going to judge you, Dean. I love you." 

Dean's eyes widen, breath catching as his throat works. He sees the emotions in his brother's eyes and he rolls his own, looks away and then back with a tiny shrug and shake of the head. "Ah, Sammy," he vocalizes quietly, reaching out but stopping the movement. He nearly goes for a hug, or offers to sit, or something, anything to stop this - but Sam isn't budging. And Dean feels this sharp slice of pain inside him even as his chest feels warm and full.

Sam is opening and closing his hands, practically ready to yell, to push his support, but. Dean won't get it. Or won't let himself. Dean just - can't. John had tossed comments off as he grew, things about Dean being soft or acting like Sam's mother. Dean always had to man up, to shut down, keep his feelings at bay and take care of everyone. Watch out for Sammy. 

He so vividly recalls saying: _"...I didn't realize how much like dad you actually are, I mean. I worshiped the guy, I dressed like him, I acted like him, I even liked the same music - but you are more like him than I will ever be, and I see that now."_

When Sam responded, he'd taken his brother's words as a compliment, and Dean said "...take it however you want". He felt defeated. That's still in him, the black and white of normal and not normal. The fact he - he is the freak. And he'd leaned into Sammy being one, because if he ever said he was, if he was to open that door....

Cas. If he talks about it - this - whatever this is to anyone, it's gotta be to Cas.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, squeezing eyes shut and gulping, he hears that steady gravelly tone of voice, again, in the way... speaking his name as if it's - as if HE'S the most important thing in existence. 

"Dean."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back into this, and I needed (and thus wrote) Sam trying sO HARD to be supportive, Dean being stubborn because he can't just...not have the issues I've no doubt he has and internalized because of his father, Jack as the most awkward sweet son (who just wants to be a kid!), and Auntie Rowena is here to help
> 
> Oodles of thanks to Huhsuabee yet again <3 <3 <3 this time for help with Sam, as I was solidly with Dean (and Jack) this chapter
> 
> Comments appreciated


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